"cynically" poems
A yellow ladybird waiting for the light to turn red.
Patiently awaiting what's to come.
She knows better than to make rude gestures at the light.
It won't make it change any quicker.
She knows she can spend her time better than being an angst-ridden insect cynically hating phonies.
It's true patience is a virtue
and she sticks by this principle.
No matter what they say,
a principle's a principle.
The yellow ladybird knows a lot of things.
A delightful delinquent who enjoys reading eloquent literature
and can tell you who painted that pretty picture.
But she is still just a yellow ladybird.
Still only learning how to operate in this world.
But when the light turns red, then she will know.
Know more than she does now.
Soon the yellow ladybird will see the light, be it the light she would've liked or not, I can not say.
Only she can decide if the waiting was worth it.
And for her poor soul, I hope it was.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 11:06 PM UTC
The door to your heart is a horrifying puzzle
Your Jigsaw pattern I can't put together
The pieces I hold don't correspond
So I take parts from you
Which is making me Leatherface
And giving you a flatter taste
And the ****** chain I saw placed
Was pressed to your door with haste
You're a killer doll like Chucky
How could I have been so unlucky?
I can't even cut through your curtains
I become a cold corpse before the movie can start
Like a careless Jamie Lee Curtis
How long can such a curted courtship last?
Before I contrive the courage to crush
The Killer Croc in your rib cage
But the corrosive corrections officer
That is your puzzle piece door
Impedes all progress to your horror heart
Because the improper placement of pieces
Will make me think you're The Witch
When you tell me Don't Breathe
As my theater's lights dim
I scramble for an exit
But my only escape from the cinema is through your door
I grow cynically situated to the pitch black pictures
How could I expect to solve the riddle
Now that I need to?
Doors that can't be opened are walls
Speaking softly turns to brawls
As your pieces scattered like change
Your door completely wrapped in chains
I feel stupid and ashamed
Your puzzled movie's to blame
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 4:16 AM UTC
My head is spinning
My vision is blurring
My neck is paining
My whole body is aching
My fingers are numbing
My arteries are clogging
My fate... I am hating
My life is shattering
My suffering is neverending...
Am I dying?
My kidney is teasing...
My blood is aggressively pumping
My glucose is cynically laughing
My heart is still beating...
Death... am I cheating?
Tick.. Tock... Tick... Tock...
Am Still breathing...
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 10:42 AM UTC
You're an inspirational exciting jolt
Like an invitational lightning bolt
I'm suddenly shocked by the results
When I am blocked by your revolt
You have my beating heart in your hand
Holding me hostage where I silently stand
Staring at your ****** butcher's cleaver
That morphs me into a landlocked ******
You're a two-hander
Like a sledgehammer
Or a radar jammer
I start to stutter and stammer
When I see your weekly planner
And the lack of my presence
Because I'm incessant
You hold a pencil and an eraser
You delete when I become a tracer
And start to draw a better replacer
You hold the scales of justice
Though I claim you're unfit
You say add that to the list
From the throne where you sit
And there's no avenue for any recourse
When your other hand holds so much force
I must deal with your actions
So I can stay in your faction
For my heart's attraction
I am never right
So we never fight
And we never might
Understand each other
When we're taking cover
From exposing vulnerability
An exploding soul is filling me
Because the cold mist killing steam
Between us until you are only a dream
And my mind starts bursting at the seams
Until there's a monster barely mentally caged
But the bars shake when it is constantly enraged
When your saccharine emotions are cynically staged
My bustling brain will unfortunately always be plagued
By your neutral reactions which I'll never be able to gauge
You hold two hands behind your back
Will it be an attack?
Our two hands should meet
Instead I'm trampled by feet
Nov 23, 2017
Nov 23, 2017 at 5:00 AM UTC
Someone stole your ****** and now you're feeling under.
Debriefed but not on how to deal with this outfit.
What to do? go out? fit in? Irked but no shoes or shirt.
Took it off of your back and replaced it
with a lack of faith in what this place is all about.
So you hung up your ***** laundry for all to see and they took it.
No mystery just misery. To the wanderer who said "if home is where the heart is, than I'm cynically homeless" unaware that if home is where the heart is YOU are always home.
They may have taken the shirt off his back but he would have given it gladly, cause that's not the sort of belonging he longs for. Wasn't quite his idea of clothing the homeless, but its done nonetheless.
But you got your head, shoulders, knees and toes so who needs clothes? When you're transparent. To the one who feels alone, take comfort in the fact that someone's now literally walking in your shoes... and socks ... and shirt.
Solitary days still leaving him contemplating underwhere? And underwhy? But what's garment to be will be and he'll be alright because his light shines bright, even if he doesn't see it in the glare. There's something fresh in the air. It's a mean feat, but once he learns to stand on his own two, in the space of a haunted Manor will stand a Man. One that can, will and do.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 11:03 PM UTC
how much poetry is in a person?
and how much of it comes out?
enough to bring up the pimples in your personality?
the ugly bumps you can learn to hide
but can't stop people from feeling
when they touch you
how much poetry is in a person
and how much needs to come out
before i am better
how much before i get over this ********
that's calling my name
how much poetry is in a person
and how do i get rid of it
i either speak cynically
or with the malice
and blood
that seeps out of me
how much poetry is in a person
and is it ok to have it there
and when will these pimples go away
and when will i be
alright again
does the poetry have to be gone
for me to be ok?
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 2:27 AM UTC
sinister smile
that smirk you throw at me when you say something dreadful
about my dress
or my hair
or the way i laugh
that smirk you throw at me
in between breaths
when my breath smells like coffee and toothpaste
and you press your mouth on mine anyways
i'll always laugh
you mean so much
but i hate to say i love you
because it doesn't describe anything
it's all ********
i know
and i know i could live without you
but tell me
why the hell would i want to?
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
We try to grasp all that we can feel
Every grain of substance we can imagine
All the hesitant hands we couldn't deal
From our arduous compassion engines
How long can we believe until we kneel
To the unkempt veracity of religion
Or fade into a vengeful iconoclast
Cynically mocking the faithful breed
Of merry-go-bashers that attempt to cast
Their egotist ideals of what we all need
Fairy tale prophets that lived in the past
Getting off on their own selfish greed
The words of mankind have nothing to tell
Implicating a heaven is rhetoric at best
And, If i'm to live i'd rather go to hell
A tactic of fear sounds like a fitting nest
For someone who has already gaily fell
To a nihilist end that I should have guessed
I have opened my mind to one single thing
A universal truth that we all should know
That one simple rule is to believe in nothing
Is there any trace of deception in what I sow?
There is no wrong answer when you doubt everything
And, your deathbed will teach that there's nothing to know
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 8:27 AM UTC
1-DESIRE: 4-UNCARE:
All of me now desires,be deep Distracted ideals,a nature human
Wholly Inside of you,Pervade Heavenly woven synergies broken
Your mind, limbs, Heart, all pores Power of pleasures mortal, killing magic
Soak in your salty sweat warm Snapping wands,bonds dearly formed
Mold dancing to a one united. Sweet temptress transient, conquering care.
2-PASSION: 5- DISILLUSION:
Bodies’ lithe now twined serpentine We betrayed, cheated US, in neglect,
Straining desperate, for a merger Holes in hearts bleeding precious Love,
Spiritual, souls both for unison striving Admitting indifference cruel, ruining stealthily
Hearts two pumping as one to fuse. Our paradise gained, won so easy, lost terribly.
Sacred is everything, this carnality too. Chanced eternity wasted, destiny unmeant made.
3-LOVE: 6- REALITY:
Ensconced tight in warmth’s mutual, Tempered in time space, 3-LOVE loyal savior sole,
All is for sacrifice on our loves altar, Enshrined indestructible, in being, memories relived.
Suspended thoughts, egos burnt ash Pleasures now cynically felt, loves truly responded,
A Love Mindless meditating deep, No dilemma human; I flow generous, as an epitaph,
In some state mystically enlightened. Thanking destiny for this reclaim, my love,faring well.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 4:55 AM UTC
Disdain and enmity,
for which there is no remedy,
gives acrimony inside of me,
for which I have no doubt,
The only way that I can see
an end to animosity,
is a clear and simple breaking free
from shackles which hold me down.
Without your burden, I can be
free to surreptitiously,
achieve a sense of normalcy
to what was once before.
Before the orders conferred to me,
carried out, sans questioning,
I had a life; a dream you see.
But no not anymore.
I used to live quite happily,
free from thinking cynically
of my peers along with me;
Our intentions leave some doubt
To what is just morally,
defensible with sanity.
A torn asunder effigy,
of who we used to be.
My name will fade from memory,
a number chalked in history,
regarded with incredulity
that I was here at all.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC
Every breath pushed me further bobbing and blushing, rounder and tugging, seeking simply to soar. I could taste the breeze, the blue above - waiting, and as I stretched so did my smile.
But I was held unknotted only, oblivion teetering on the pinch of a thumb and forefinger. Until slowly but cynically, gasp by gasp, all was forced out, and when the moment came to go, there was nothing left to go on.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC
Symmetry faceless or otherwise
colorful or
drab. Equality is sin
struggle is peace with people
Cynically and worldly impossible
No prejudice, no illness
Well prejudice is illness, and humans are death
The propaganda vaccinations donated by our governments daily, monthly, yearly
Not antiestablishment
anti-chikanery
not anti-symmetric
anti-whitewash
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 10:07 PM UTC
It's been one week,
since I told you,
nothing of importance.
But one week,
since you told me,
anything,
at all.
How soon I forget,
what it's like,
not to be,
at a person's disposal.
How quickly I remember,
that remembering is,
a bother.
Easy folk enjoy easy listening.
A magnet that draws sound.
Vibrations of different magnitudes.
But visually, all the same:
On a large enough body; what proceeds:
A ripple on water's edge.
Beauties and questions evoked.
Memories that hold vehemence.
Open ears that trickle red.
An eye for an eye.
A tooth for a tooth.
A *** for a ***
Sour taste, before I spit.
After all that said,
so it goes:
She is left feeling discontent,
because her friend left her behind.
A friendship no longer pragmatic,
left her detached and unkind.
After one move against her,
inadvertently made her the bad guy.
Assimilated ignorance was transferred,
leaving her with raging eyes.
Now a maniac, but once shy.
It started the day she was betrayed,
and her friend left without goodbye.
Friendship turned into a frivolous demise.
She never thought of compromise.
She will always be left on her own will.
Only living each day with empty glare.
While she sits cynically by her window sill.
Reliving old days, and perfecting her stare.
It's been one week,
since I told myself,
nothing of importance.
But one week,
since I've asked questions,
and have realized that,
in your twenties,
you are partial to saying 'No.'
Implicit No, god-forbid a subtle yes.
You know yourself.
You want to know yourself.
You hope that you know yourself.
And,
In the scheme of it all,
the ***** shopping mall,
the empty alleyways,
**** and trash,
looking down at laced shoes,
transcends society's social boundaries.
Those little moments at the end of the day,
that make you smile,
are the reason you should not become frustrated.
It would be the same,
as letting a long car ride ruin a vacation.
Thinking short-termed has never led to outstanding goals,
only temporary satisfaction.
Life is short,
but it is long enough to learn how to pick battles.
There are far more important things to worry about,
than ill intent with loved ones,
or even strangers.
If someone steps on your shoes,
let it go.
Use that frustration to better yourself,
and when you can,
buy better shoes,
and walk a mile in them.
Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 3:03 AM UTC
Soldier,
I won't be your red dot,
my body the coordinates
you hit or miss.
What if you say no?
What if you say yes?
What if I could care less?
I won't hide me behind uncertainty to
compliments camouflaged
as criteria
I must fail or pass
this ****** up social game,
no one seems to change the rules.
So I'll hide in my bunker cynically.
You might say I have PTSD
because too many bullets skimmed me.
But you are just another ******
most comfortable with late nights
and green lights,
killing souls of girls
who just want to run home
and sleep alone,
not held in your hands,
nor held in your eyes,
and certainly
not scaled from 1 to 10.
You're violent.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 1:55 AM UTC
Where I'm from multicultural means multicultural and not just “lacking in white people”.
Where I'm from people say they're from Toronto even though they hate the Jays, Raptors and Leafs and hardly ever go into the city itself.
Where I'm from any day can be cynically mundane enough to read The Catcher In The Rye and mistake it for the Gospel according to Holden Caulfield.
Where I'm from everyone hates the mall, but everyone's a mall rat and if you ever go you see everyone, at least everyone you hate, and buy nothing.
Where I'm from there's signs that say “Flowertown” everywhere and an unremarkable amount of flowers. Unless there is a remarkable amount of flowers and where I'm from everyone's just spoiled.
Probably spoiled.
Where I'm from you could walk to Tim Horton's but you drive to Starbucks anyway.
Where I'm from everyone's considering a career in rap. Even the people who aren't considering a career in rap are considering a career in rap.
Where I'm from every teenager will tell you their Michael Cera encounter story.
Where I'm from is where he's from too, or he went to school there, or near there, or now his parents live near there. He's been there, multiple times, I'm sure.
Where I'm from there's an old quarry that everyone calls a lake now. Swimmers used to circulate the urban myth of a dead body at the bottom, until they found it. Now they just circulate the stale news story.
Where I'm from there used to be trees. Nature put some there until we cut them down to build. Then the people put some there to accent the houses until Nature piled ice on them and cut them down again.
Where I'm from someone needs to have a good talk with this Nature fellow.
Where I'm from the brand new hospital screams, “good things come to those who wait, and wait and wait, unless you need to see a specialist. Then you're ******
Where I'm from there are streets that have so many young kids playing on them that ice cream trucks aren't allowed to go there. They go anyway.
Kids learn early that the law is optional where I'm from.
Where I'm from people don't pronounce the “gua” in “Chinguacousy Park”. Kids used to spend time there splashing around diluted *** in the kiddie pool in summer and tubing down the landfill mountain in winter. Now they just pass it by on the way to the mall.
Where I'm from car insurance costs more than cars because everyone's late, lost and angry, but none of them would call themselves a bad driver, just unlucky.
Where I'm from boys take pretty girls skating at Gage Park. I guess they take ugly girls there too, I just know the one I took was pretty.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
If I should have a son, someday
with thick, dark hair
And an easy smile
I will tell him, everyday,
that he is loved.
I will remind him every time
His knees strike the ground in defeat
that he is strong
and capable.
Every time he comes home
with a broken heart
that he won’t admit to
I will tell him he’s perfect.
If I have son
whose eyes sparkle mischievously
I will remind him, the best men
Got where they were not with tricks
But with hard, honest work
and he’ll smile cynically
like his father would
“Yeah, mom,” he’ll say
but I’ll only smile
Because I know he’ll remember.
If I have a son
who runs like the wind
And still aches to go faster
I will hand him over my pair of wings
And send him flying
And if he sings in the shower
And still aches to be heard
I will give him every whisper of my voice
Until he can shout across mountains
And if I have a son
I will hold his baby soft hands in mine
And tell him to keep those hands soft
And caring.
Like his father’s hands.
And I will brush his hair back
From the stubborn forehead
And kiss the crinkled brow.
If I have a son
I will tell him everyday
That he is a man.
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 10:59 AM UTC
My favorite language is sarcasm
Have you ever noticed how subtly it can be used?
And how much less of an idiot you feel when you can say that you've given a little snigger at a snide comment
It keeps you in the loop
It lacks the grace and elegance of Spanish or French
But for all it's supposed pushing people away from other people
I've just found that it brings a select group of the jaded
Into being the best of friends
You can't ask a girl for her hand
Or tell her you love her
With such a tone as a sarcastic jibe
It doesn't do to tell someone
How beautiful they are
If they question your meaning
And still I love the musical sound of isolating the idiots from the cynically inclined
Because it brought me closer to you
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC
My life's Monopoly game
hotels, houses, fancy cars
soon gonna own Mars
kindness is lame
I won! yesss, cynically
but - now it all goes back into the box.
all I owned, all I accumulated
It will never make it
not when I die
it didn't really belong to me
I only borrowed it for a while
so what really matters?
it's a waste of time
a game of Monopoly
an illusion of mine
a common human crime
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 8:35 AM UTC
Tumbleweed
Ted Old
John Merchant,
Joan Harling
Edith Smith
David Wilkinson,
Mike Waldron
Marie Ainsworth
Ruth Bell,
Lucy Ritchie
A list undignified by death
In an instant deflated, unwound
Vibrant yet now not a breath
Missing, lost, not found
I mourn every one of their names
And all that each one implied
Merely a lifetime ago
They came, they lived, they died.
The bluntness has ruined my mood
With the arrogant stealing of life
It demanded all my attention
Then cynically wielded the knife
I'm trying but their voices are fading
As my brain's recordings wear out
And the clarity of all their faces
Is blurred with the pallor of doubt
So all I have now are some photos
Flat caricatures of their lives
Each one replacing my memory
With a past that cannot be revived
Relentless my list will grow longer
Crushing for each name a line
And my heart will grow ever more heavy
Till the last name that's added,
is mine.
Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 2:53 AM UTC
Across the court yard
The amorous twentysomethings
Open their window for the first time
They let the sun shine in -
They do not believe in curtains -
They let the sunshine in
He is Adonis
She is Mona Lisa
I hate them so much
It’s five in the morning
Our child screams us awake
Meanwhile, they sleep until noon
Passing by the window
I glimpse at the lovers entwined
“Not tonight” you yawn
Our friends are laughing
About what, we cannot tell
All we see is their love
He brings her breakfast in bed
Maybe it’s a birthday present? I suggest
Or he ******* up, bigtime - you reply cynically
They’ve become background noise
Only witnessed in passing
Or referenced in our idle conversation
A few weeks have passed
Their room is empty and still
We almost forget they were ever there
She sits on her bed and stares at nothing
She has not moved for hours –
A lonely still life
Adonis is waning
His eyes are sinking, and he’s losing hair
He’s become a walking skeleton
He does not move much these days
All of the time, she waits by his side
For whatever comes next
I keep telling you
That he will soon recover
I have to believe this
He's sitting up today
Telling jokes and laughing,
She's cracking that famous smile
The room is now full
With what must be family and friends
Saying their goodbyes
She is being cradled
by, I think, her mother – or aunt
We weep along
The guests are now long gone
The silence settles like dust
She holds his hand while he fades
Soon, it will be just her (and us)
Left in this quiet room
Alone
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 12:32 AM UTC
Welcome to the world of the soothing mind
We have achieved everything once considered impossible
We love our neighbors
We fight no wars
We possess no weapons
We will not achieve full spectrum dominance
We are sane
We ask for nothing
We give everything
You ask where is this world?
I say you are standing on it
But how can this be
For none of the things I say could possibly be true
Oh but they are
Because a dreamer can take you there
I just need one person
And it will become not about me
But instead it will be about we
And in it my daughter will laugh
As she did today
But instead of celebrating a moment
We will celebrate her life
And the life of your daughter
And your son
And mine
We have achieved these things
And it is because we dare to think that way
We do not accept the values of the material world
Nothing is for sale
Because what is priceless cannot be sold
It belongs to everyone
It is holy
It is shared
It is loved by all
And possessed by none
You won’t have to beg
It will be giving
You won’t have to cry
It will be comforting
You won’t have to hide
It will be liberating
You won’t have to wonder
It will be revealing
You won’t have to conform
It will be accepting
You won’t have to pretend
It will be real
There will be a day when you believe in what I say
But you may think you already believe these things
That you don’t need to be told of what is good
But do you believe these things?
Or do you believe in someone?
Or something?
Are you ready to live believing
Or die deceiving?
Are you ready to live naively?
Or die cynically?
Are you ready to live with a dream
Or die with a scream?
It may take one hundred years
A century
But I’m not waiting
I can’t
I will dead long before then
So I will live where I want to live
And it will be wherever I walk
It will be wherever I work
It will be wherever I sleep
There will be no consideration of money
It is about being honest
There will be no spin
There will be no pretend
I may not be shrewd
I may not be clever
But that is because I do not think that way
There is nothing to calculate
There is nothing to manage
There is no solution
There is no opportunity
There is no ethic related to money that exists
Because being true is what this world is about
And the light of this world shines on my children
For they will know their father
And he will NOT teach them how to take advantage of people
He will NOT teach them how to lie when lying is accepted
He will NOT teach them how to be comfortable with sanctimony
He will NOT teach them to display their ego in their every utterance
He will teach them to understand that those who only think of money
Can never their friend
What can you give up for honesty?
What can you give up for empathy?
What can you give up for sincerity?
What can you give up for integrity?
For what you leave at the door to paradise will disappear from your mind
If you can only believe that nothing is everything
If you can only believe that what is inside is the only thing
If you can only believe that who you are is not what you bring
If you can only believe that the world that could never exist is shining
But can you see what is before you?
Or can you only see what man has taught you to see?
What man has taught you to believe
About the failings of everyone
About the lies of commerce
About the desires of the flesh
About the worth of destruction
Yes
Welcome to the world of the soothing mind
Put down your sword
Be who you are
Let them be who they are
Because only love can be everything to everyone
For every color
Has a heart
And every color
Has a heart
And every color
Has a heart
And this is all that is to be known
And when this is known
Then every heart will know
Of every heart
And then you will know
Of what I speak
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
'Tis horrible to wield a word
To slight and slander me
'Tis better to deploy them
For fable, myth and story
There are maddest multitudes in words
Contain divinest sense
It's possible to convey magic
In every single tense
But bastardize words cynically
If you really must
But know in slight you've broken
The cherishable crystal of my trust
A bard is hard to pigeonhole
So, really, mate, try it all you like
I'll be waxing lyrical
While you're still playing psych
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 9:44 AM UTC
*Bad morning darling, my eyes cynically beam
Staining my rotten teeth and my swirling dreams
The best ******* part of waking up
Is this twisted sickness in my gut
Nausea freshly brewed
Minty gums partially chewed
Bleeding raw, half crimson, half cream
Another cup spilled at the ****** scene
Caution tape draped around my tongue
Shooting up caffeine like a ****** with a gun
The sweet snow crystals dangle on my buds
The rings on our table blur and smudge
An heirloom ruined, a life destroyed
Another addiction to soak up the void
Dipping memories into steaming drops
Steeping leaves and beans into knots
I drain my mug, knowing the bitter truth
Coffee will never leave me the way I left you.*
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 3:55 PM UTC
Nothing to distract you from
giggling points of light in the otherwise
daunting black of night,
taunting glow
Quivering blithely as if God himself is teasing you,
shaking these glimmering possibilities in front of your face.
You could believe that you're squinting at possible realities,
or you could cynically accept that they're all illusions
and the only reality is
this.
but midnight is so cold and monotonous
without a warm body to give it context,
and I think-
I think that I miss you now.
Or some two dimensional caricature of you,
The one that resides in my head because
you're no longer here to give it volume.
Memories are feelings and memories alone fade,
feelings just latch onto other things.
(Like tonight)
and we then romanticize trivial, inanimate things.
Ideas, places, not people no, too
dangerous.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 6:32 PM UTC