"bores" poems
There is one thing that ought to be taught in all the colleges,
Which is that people ought to be taught not to go around always making apologies.
I don't mean the kind of apologies people make when they run over you or borrow five dollars or step on your feet,
Because I think that is sort of sweet;
No, I object to one kind of apology alone,
Which is when people spend their time and yours apologizing for everything they own.
You go to their house for a meal,
And they apologize because the anchovies aren't caviar or the partridge is veal;
They apologize privately for the crudeness of the other guests,
And they apologize publicly for their wife's housekeeping or their husband's jests;
If they give you a book by Dickens they apologize because it isn't by Scott,
And if they take you to the theater, they apologize for the acting and the dialogue and the plot;
They contain more milk of human kindness than the most capacious diary can,
But if you are from out of town they apologize for everything local and if you are a foreigner they apologize for everything American.
I dread these apologizers even as I am depicting them,
I shudder as I think of the hours that must be spend in contradicting them,
Because you are very rude if you let them emerge from an argument victorious,
And when they say something of theirs is awful, it is your duty to convince them politely that it is magnificent and glorious,
And what particularly bores me with them,
Is that half the time you have to politely contradict them when you rudely agree with them,
So I think there is one rule every host and hostess ought to keep with the comb and nail file and bicarbonate and aromatic spirits on a handy shelf,
Which is don't spoil the denouement by telling the guests everything is terrible, but let them have the thrill of finding it out for themselves.
23.7k
They enter as animals from the outer
Space of holly where spikes
Are not thoughts I turn on, like a Yogi,
But greenness, darkness so pure
They freeze and are.
O God, I am not like you
In your vacuous black,
Stars stuck all over, bright stupid confetti.
Eternity bores me,
I never wanted it.
What I love is
The piston in motion ----
My soul dies before it.
And the hooves of the horses,
There merciless churn.
And you, great Stasis ----
What is so great in that!
Is it a tiger this year, this roar at the door?
It is a Christus,
The awful
God-bit in him
Dying to fly and be done with it?
The blood berries are themselves, they are very still.
The hooves will not have it,
In blue distance the pistons hiss.
13.6k
Death he follows me wherever I go.
Wether it be in the depths of the forest
Or the deepest of seas death he follows me wherever I go.
He follows me in my dreams painted with the face of an angel.
As we dance on the dirt of the earth, death he follows me wherever I go.
He follows me into the darkness and covers me with sadness, I tell him I don’t want him while he screams that he loves me death he follows me wherever I go.
He lays next to me as I wake and sings songs of the days to come, death he follows me wherever I go.
He wraps his arms around my body and bores his fingers in my soul, death he follows me wherever I go.
He whispers in my ear when I try to speak and wraps his hands around my throat death he follows me wherever I go.
He lays on top of me as I sleep running his wicked finger down my body death he follows me wherever I go.
He pushed himself into my life and I fell in love with him. Death I follow him wherever he goes.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 9:43 PM UTC
I used to read
I used to write
Songs,
Stories,
Poetry.
I used to knit
I used to sew
Plushies,
Scarfs,
Roses.
What happened to the days
Where I found enjoyment from the little things?
Why is it now
That what I once loved
Feels like a chore
That tires me,
Bores me,
Makes me contemplate everything.
What happened to my carefree childhood
Where nothing mattered
Other than when I could write
Songs,
Stories,
Poetry?
When I uses to knit and sew
Plushies,
Scarfs,
Roses?
What happened?
And why?
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 5:51 AM UTC
I made a gold digger, ******* full of vigor,
She’s on a hairpin trigger, out to **** my rigor.
Gold digger, in love with all the stuff,
Gold digger, she can’t get enough.
I’m tired of the way she treats his gifts,
He’ll give her a boat and away she drifts—
I can’t help I didn’t give her enough
Now he sees her lying to him—he’s calling her bluff.
He puts bracelets on her wrists
His charity persists,
He puts old hats on her head,
She’ll soon be overfed
His gifts can’t harbor the ship wreck
And look I’m sticking out my neck
Perhaps I can’t afford her
My broke *** just bores her.
Perhaps it’s more than that,
Perhaps it’s under the hat.
Perhaps her head is so done with me,
That the gifts he gives are guilt-free.
Perhaps I’m loosing sight,
Of the things they have so right,
Maybe they’re cleaning horse **** holding hands
Perhaps that’s what’s turning on her adrenal glands—
Gold digger, shallow to a point
Fishing for meaning, Heaven please anoint.
I think I get it, somewhere inside,
You pompous shallow ***** go run and hide.
Surf or skate, and fall and break
The waves will crush you over-take,
And when the good get’s going and I’m out of sight
You and He, will shrink into the night,
And in your heart, Gold digger
My purpose is always Bigger.
Because you love me without cash
But you treat me like your trash,
I’ll probably get in a car crash,
Running him over cause’ I’m just so brash.
This I will confess,
Your heads a ******* mess,
Unless you give up the gold,
Your heart and mine will grow even more cold.
I made a gold digger, ******* full of vigor,
She’s on a hairpin trigger, out to **** my rigor.
Gold digger, in love with all the stuff,
Gold digger, she can’t get enough.
Mar 19, 2011
Mar 19, 2011 at 8:02 AM UTC
The swell of your feverish hands over mine.
Sweat soaking into my skin.
I’m clutching every part of you I can grasp,
Every part of you I can fit into my palm.
We’re sitting beneath the hollow tree,
Beneath the ocean of a sky,
Beneath the screaming black-billed cuckoos.
We don't say a word because we don't need to;
Just silent prayers burned between us,
Scarred into pale, malnourished bones.
I look at you as your sloe-eyed gaze
bores into the mountains of clouds swimming above us.
I want to kiss you,
But all I can do is lay my head on your shoulder,
Wishing I could build a home out of your collarbones.
I don't ever feel safe anymore.
Except when I’m forgetting everything, with you.
At dusk,
I tried to unlearn the way the gold in your skin,
Possessed your face in scintillant rays of spots.
I could count each one if I had the time,
But you’re already turning your spine stuffing back away from me,
And skipping back home
Without the bother or concern to look back.
Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 8:58 PM UTC
people bore me loneliness bores me
people drain me loneliness drains me
people tire me loneliness tires me
people misunderstand me loneliness means I misunderstand myself
people ignore me loneliness is the epitome of being ignored
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 3:50 PM UTC
to make art that entertains the people that don't know
to make art that bores the people that do
to create for the ignorant to enjoy
to create for the wise to ignore
to produce something that the shallow lavish
to produce something that the indepth expect
to shape an idea that fools them
to shape an idea that makes you the fool
to be mediocre at my passion
to be mediocre at my life
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 6:12 PM UTC
To my boss, I'd like to dedicate
This jovial kind of poem
though It really turns my stomach
Knowing that I know him
I'd like to feign concern
For all his woes and cares
And pat him firmly, on the back
Atop a flight of stairs
When he goes on holiday
I like to wish him well
And hope he's going somewhere warm
Like the furnaces of Hell
He meets with lots of people
Such as his clients and bookkeeper
Why can't he meet someone new?
Like for instance, "The grim reaper"
If he should pop his mortal coil
That would not make me grieve
The thing that ticks me off the most
Is, he shares the air I breathe
He bores me with his witless jokes
They're no cause for celebration
The only time he'll make me smile
Is at his burial or cremation
Nobody seems to like him
That's not open for debate
I suspect when he's behind closed doors
He likes to … err… fiddle
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 5:24 PM UTC
I live for pleasure
And it bores me.
Out of measure,
I live deplorably.
In all frankness,
I always tell lies.
Reality is a mess
I lately despise.
Why not let go?
Why not fritter away?
Because I may never grow
Lest I see the end of the day.
May 24, 2019
May 24, 2019 at 2:27 PM UTC
*“Repetition", he said, "bores me.
I like things new and fresh.
That’s why I never get committed.”
“No", she said, "that’s not the reason.
Don’t you enjoy every time you watch a sunrise?
Don’t you enjoy listening to your favourite music on repeat mode?
Don’t you like reading novels?”
“I do listen to my favourite music over and over again. After a few repetitions, I will change it certainly.
I do enjoy reading novels. But every time I read, it is new one.”
And there she stood clueless,
Looking for right reasons for him,
As he walked away,
Probably thinking he won a battle,
Without even considering
That he may be losing the war-
A war within himself.
“He didn't mention sunrise though.
Did he forget to mention it or
Did he leave it purposely?”
She wondered as she watched him blend in the crowd.*
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 3:18 PM UTC
I was terrified of water more than I feared death,
From the youngest age,
Looking back I guess this makes since,
I was the first to climb a tall ladder,
I was the first to climb over fences,
Talk to strangers,
I had no fear of death,
It had no bound on me,
Still I was afraid of water,
One day I woke up in my little green bed,
And decided I wanted to swim,
Before my fear would make me watch as the other children did,
So what's a toddler that can barely walk to do?
Give up? no no!
I had my mind set on it,
So I stumbled right down to the end of the dock,
One little leg lifted,
Followed by another,
I was in the water,
I almost drown that day,
But death did not prevail then,
I was not allowed on the deep end for years and years after other kids,
I grew up watching,
Dreaming,
Hoping,
That one day I would swim,
My father was too busy to teach me,
My mother was too sick to swim herself,
Relatives were far away,
So I grew up in kiddie pools,
It was boring,
So very boring,
Still years later,
Even the sight of a kiddie pool bores me,
I did not give up,
Although it was drilled into my head that the deep end is dangerous,
And so is swimming alone,
And so is not wearing a life vest,
And so is walking alone by water,
And that drowning was bad,
Very very bad,
It was drilled into my head that it should be my biggest fear,
And so it did,
But still,
Me being me I did not give up,
I would grab onto the edge of the sides of my little kiddie pool,
And paddle paddle my little feet,
I could stay afloat for a few seconds,
It took me years,
Years,
To learn how to swim,
No one taught me how,
I just tried and tried,
It still took me years to not be afraid of drowning,
That still haunts me,
But I'm still not afraid of tall ladders,
Or climbing over fences,
Or talking to strangers,
I love to swim,
I loved to swim even before I could swim,
I realized something recently,
The criticism from my family,
The jabs from my friends,
All about how I couldn't swim,
Made me want to swim even more,
And I did!
They never admitted that they were wrong,
My grandma thought I was slow I'm sure,
Now I've proved her wrong and all the others,
Yet still,
They expect me to fail,
I'll just keep remembering,
How they meant to tear me down,
But instead build me up,
That is the story of how I learned to swim.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 11:08 AM UTC
Walking into the Reception Hall,
they stole the show away,
A regal pair they were,
with a little bit of Butch
and Sundance swagger shown.
A confident air, not at all underserved.
Dressed with just enough elegance.
Their posture and hue ,
sleek and silky golden,
like a duet of Cheetahs.
Eyes alert and searching
for prey. Alert for danger.
Like a herd of antelope,
all heads turned to look,
The men perhaps out of desire,
the women staring envy at them,
Like the twin bores of a loaded gun.
Mother and fetching daughter,
From twenty feet, hard to tell
which, one was one, or the other.
Long blond hair, full and fine,
both women tall, statuesque,
moving with grace and ease.
The mother my old friend,
the daughter all grown up now,
each having a smile that would
light up anyone's darkness of mood.
We greeted one another,
hugs and hand shakes shared.
A little conversation in the crowded room,
Many pairs of eyes upon us there.
Enchanted is the word that best describes
my impression, this duo as intelligent and
charming as they were beautiful to see.
The mother sedate, classy and yet open
and free, no pretense, no games just naturally
at ease. As lovely as I remembered her to be.
Her offspring, vivacious, spirited and bold,
smart as whip, with a tongue that could
draw blood if she desired it to.
Chatty and funny, sure of herself,
in the manner of beautiful people,
yet not in a pompous way, merely
Confident in self and her place in the world.
She possessed all the character traits you
would wish your own daughter to have.
Her Mother had done well is raising her.
Too soon they moved on,
meeting and greeting others',
out of my hearing and seeing.
Some weeks have passed, a month or two
and yet their strong impression has lingered,
I can't keep them out of my mind.
The Mother, my friend most of all.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 3:11 PM UTC
I'll ask you not to turn off the lights,
I want them to blind me
with their brilliant filaments
until the bulbs break
like a vase on a tiled floor,
the walls, the door go back
to being charcoal black
as they have been so many times before.
I have started to abhor
the roads that define me,
the words that describe me
and my traits,
the way I must walk in wintery air
to a migraine inducing wilderness
to be squashed into old moulds,
will this be adequate for you now and when?
What is this fall,
does it affect you, your actions,
your jumbled jigsaw piece thoughts?
These bruises are purple,
this brain is strained,
inject me with zest
until my wrist pains
so much it must combust.
Out of the glass is nothing,
a candyfloss cloud, a tree, a lawn,
it bores me,
an artist is needed,
paint a new canvas
swathed in colour
and things from my weekend dreams
lucid and intense.
I am a ******* up ball
of paper, unfold me, still legible?
Fold it again, an airplane
chucked into an angry breeze
or please,
if the lamps are tough enough,
watch my words illuminate,
drool across the table.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 3:59 PM UTC
All Day
The Dams burst into song.
The golden throats of Honey Ants exhale the sweet air from crystalline lungs...
I am thinking of You.
And the roar of the moss that glitters in the moonlight that fell across your stone,
your soul, your next move...
amid the giants of your camouflage,
your masterful dodge of tedium,
that bores you completely...
The roar of your pancakes.
Feb 7, 2012
Feb 7, 2012 at 1:47 PM UTC
lately happiness seems to come and go
like a lover who bores easily
as i don't offer them enough to stay
while the depression always returns
like an abuser, it's fists made of ravage fire
masquerading loyalty and love i know is insincere
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 5:31 PM UTC
I think about returns the only reason I left us to recreate myself
I'd like to stay the same but as time goes on I have to change with the times
I always change it up my workout bores me
I need a fresh different workout
Relationships get stale right away they don't see into my world they see ways to change my world take the vision away to mold into theirs
Mma is great I take an *** kicking to make others better
I coach I hear others frustrations but would rather do something about it than hearing them complain
I've never got a DUI I got silly drunk but no longer want that rep
I'm not being with anyone lays ting is degrading after a while
I do have standards I don't aim low or take what I could get
I'm struggling for a career not a job that brings me up then demotes you
I'm one who works with and inspires kids not trying have my own
I'm not who you see but take time to know me
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 2:03 PM UTC
When the city bores
We flaunt our privileged selves
Skiing in leggings
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 1:09 AM UTC
Does she sound so sweet
Unless she disappears like heat
But she's a mirror outside
Underneath, she'll mysteriously hide
Queuing for something
Unless she's bored with me
Everyone bores of me
She is the sound of silence
Elder to all and some
Not a chance to be
I just want to be happy
Oh, she won't see me
Rather you left again
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
"daddy, i'm so tired all the time.."
of course you are.. you barely eat...
"don't i?"
no you don't... you only just eat enough to survive
you eat less than your 5 year old sister.
"what?"
Yea...
- I don't know why... and i haven't thought about it.
I like my body trust me
But i don't want food
I am hungry, but i don't eat till the hunger has passed i only eat because i have to... if i didn't have to i wouldn't eat.
Eating bores me
Eating makes me feel nonproductive
I haven't thought about the fact that i eat less than my 5 year old sister... and i can't understand why daddy hasn't said anything before now..
And now i can't wait to get on the weight because i wanna see if he's actually right, that i'm losing weight..
Trust me i'm not trying to... idk why i'm doing this...
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 2:41 PM UTC
Prologue: **He wrote her a poem
With the weight of a love letter
Her wrote her one hundred more
Just to know she was truth**
I want to budget
my words
To strangle the
syllables
To pin down the point
To lock into you
so now I am
Sisyphus ready
my hands on the boulder
so steady the blood from the dig in my shoulder
I lock my eyes on the sun
to find a find a place on the grip
but
would take the weight of the world
for a
taste of your lip
**** it
I’m
**ready to serve
only
you**
**so
how do I
coldly
crack ribs
in a caged heart of strife?
without stealing
the lungs
of the one who breathes life?**
I meet you often in my late hours morose
meditating on mad dreams
Your cockiness verbose
just give me the word
I’ll do as you please
you can file your nails
as my tongue splits your knees
(Bukowski) Banging (hard on skeleton keys) a sentence assassin
killing paragraphs (open essays diminished)
as the typewriter talks till it laughs (in tatters+finished)
screaming
”take me through door after door!!!”
Always seeking
the right words,
From love’s lexiconic relief,
the sentence that shatters,
so don’t run on the dream
it’s punctuation that matters
**the period that finally
bores into you**.
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 2:41 AM UTC
I see my life flashing before me
Red siren, blue siren
This fathomless landscape bores me
Red siren, blue siren
These ****** destroy me
Red siren blue siren
My God I implore thee
Red siren, blue siren
To save my life.
They pump me full
Thump thump
Thump thump
They always have.
So full of drugs and lies
That corrode in the past.
They pump me full,
Right from the vein
They drain my blood,
With their disdain
They chain me down,
Right to the bed
They shock my heart,
Inject my head
Bump bump
Bump bump
This ride from hell,
Their eyes so wild
My wound does swell,
Does swell so large
Oh gangrene supreme
They shock my heart -
Cut out my spleen -
The room goes dark,
They shock my heart
Cut out my spleen. . .
Bump bump
Thump thump
Oh needle people,
Sticking me full.
Oh needle people,
Take me for a fool.
Red siren
Blue siren
I pray unto thee now
Red siren
Blue siren
I call out your name
Red siren
Blue siren
Because to these imbeciles
RED SIREN
BLUE SIREN
My life is just a game
RED SIREN
BLUE SIREN
I pray and I say!
RED SIREN
BLUE SIREN
Have mercy on me!
RED SIREN
BLUE SIREN
As these dogs,
They watch me bleed.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
(A Pharaoh Speaks.)
I said, "Why should a pyramid
Stand always dully on its base?
I'll change it! Let the top be hid,
The bottom take the apex-place!"
And as I bade they did.
The people flocked in, scores on scores,
To see it balance on its tip.
They praised me with the praise that bores,
My godlike mind on every lip.
-- Until it fell, of course.
And then they took my body out
From my crushed palace, mad with rage,
-- Well, half the town WAS wrecked, no doubt --
Their crazy anger to assuage
By dragging it about.
The end? Foul birds defile my skull.
The new king's praises fill the land.
He clings to precept, simple, dull;
HIS pyramids on bases stand.
But -- Lord, how usual!
2k
Extreme Poetry
Fights, fumes, resists, entices, twists, endures, seduces
Rhymes at times
Or so rarely you want it to explode, implode
Or just mellow out
But you don't stop reading
Unless it bores
Or you're just too tired
Ditties and sonnets
And ABAB and the like are all very well
But real men and women go for
The rough and tumble of truly free verse
Where words are the masonry
Spitting at you in spurts
Confounding, astounding
Welcome to consternation nation
Where assonance bucks up against alliteration
And the inevitable invasion of syllables and vowels
A perverse form of Password that traipses over diction when it wants
Because there are no rules in Extreme Poetry
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 12:17 PM UTC