"discontentment" poems
Summer heat summer sweet
With a wealthy nature, rich pheromones erupt
Birds n tha bees escape the trees
Please don't plant your seeds
But throw the leaves
Up n up
To get down and drop
Where the dirt pops
Ken keseys ashes
Edible umbrellas turn rainy days on their head spinning pupils wide void of discontentment
Fairies fly off clouds and stars fall at day
Impossible, feelings are blown in and out of proportion to fit a screen thats too small
Tough love
Tough life
Slick surface don't let me fall off the boat as it rocks
Swisher wraps over the curves
Got me feelin lucky like a charm
Cheef all day got me smellin dank as a Rastafarian Only stoppin to sip my Captain Morgans moonshine
Till we hit the caribbean
Then Jack's got me headin for tides end
Early
Flush the bile outta your system
And spiral out of controls iron hand
**** responsibility, Apathy rules all.
Paper crane ******* get all superficial but yellow bones make my brain go fuzzy in smokey ***
In n out, fast n slow
Nicotine dominates
My senses are lost at Molly
That ***** finger ****** my life
Made me *** every time
This unhealthy relation in action doesn't phase me yet, I'm too young to think that far
I mean
What do you expect?
A Teens crowded perceptions can be judged like a bums intentions.
Peace my brotha
Dandy danny says theres a way out
-side with the rap culture
Shots of rebellion pour through the cracks we each fill
The glass
Is too cracked to be see-through
West coast vibes kick back lax attitude I carry on my shoulders
Forever green is my state
Wash that **** off your lawn crack *** haters I'll spray paint your ***
Equality's the goal
**** race
**** sexuality
I see soul
Open up
Show me your beat
I'll count bars as we spit elicited slurs drizzled to drops leaving the cops to stop us
Quit
Obeyin the brand
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
***all these pretty people
with ******* flawless skin
unblemished bodies
to contain their confident
loving souls
i look in the mirror
and i cry
i can't take what looks back at me
its agonizing imperfections
and taunting discontentment
tonight i want to die
but i won't tomorrow
so i hold on
despite hating myself entirely***
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 1:50 AM UTC
My stiff arms hit the metal of the door as I force it open, against
the chilled fist of wind, pounding hard upon the glass
windows and then equally upon my face and forearms. It had to be
below 50 degrees, but I had hoped that the cold could help me
feel again. Feel something. Unfortunately,
this ice only froze my fingers, leaving
my body as numb as my mind.
Later, as I rid my machine of the cloth concealment, protecting
the scars laced into my skin. The water boils as I
examine my life-lines, these battle scars, in the mirror and
can only cringe in thought of the disappointment drowning
the faces of those I care about most: their eyes
drooping down with the weight of eyebrows, creased
diagonally, half shock and the other half burning
discontentment. They purse their lips and stab my eyes
with their daggers, when I chuckle nervously.
I shake my head of these thoughts from my speculation and
step into the steam, hoping the heat could help me
feel again. However, the fire does not scorch my
body, nor incinerate the emptiness, it only slides
down the marble sculpture my body feels to be
(equivalent to the concrete barrier that builds behind my eyes)
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 7:24 PM UTC
Squeeze your feet into synthetic fins.
See the world in big rubbery lenses.
Don’t forget the snorkel, of course! Bite tight.
Hobble to the shore,
Where the two worlds meet.
The sea splashes gently on the sand.
It hurls itself forward
And then recedes back.
Its motions are like gestures,
Telling you to draw close
And closer.
Its peaceful surface is an invitation itself,
Painted blue and glittered with sunshine.
Accept the invitation with gladness.
Don't be afraid!
Let the briny waters embrace you.
Let the cold tickle your skin.
Let the waves rock you back and forth.
You have entered a grand ballroom
Illuminated with a majestic chandelier of refracting sunlight.
The colorful corals with shapes of mounds, disks, and crowns,
Sway with the rhythm of the current.
The fishes dance around and about,
Each beaded with scales of various vibrant colors.
And then the reef ends.
The colors abruptly plunge into a black abyss.
Look down and allow yourself to be
Filled with fear, terror,
Or maybe
Insatiable curiosity.
Now let that curiosity stir discontentment in you:
Discontentment with snorkeling.
Let it ignite a craving for
More thrill, more wonder.
It's time to go deep sea diving.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
Feeling fail.
A shallow discontentment
only brought about
by the success of others.
Challenges conspire.
Everywhere I look
beauty and joy
laughing
mockingly.
My poor body,
weak and restless,
struggling to breathe
under the pressure.
Water surrounds me,
pounding in my ears,
and it is done.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
There are so many sides to me...
A perplexing mixed identity...
A spliced yet whole menagerie...
Of characters...
To meet each one...is to be undone...
Touched...without flesh...
I am Vesuvius...just below the surface...
Molten malice merging...swirling...
The narrow Nile...
Meandering mildly...coaxing vexing perplexing...wildly...
A temptress...a child...a bitter diatribe...holding...no...unfolding...
This story...non-benign...
And this is where you come in...
Tumultuous tide...your raging winds...
A course-less calamity...to pursue...
That is not me...THAT...is you...
Unbridled...and unabashed...
Alas our toxic story line...how well embittered did entwine...our love...
Dangerous pursuit...then...you took root...
Off with the loot...
Of my misfortune...
I attempt to fold...
Forfeit my resentment...discontentment...
My own deliverance from you...
You disappear...no...transform
Retreat...from your chaotic norm...
Another type of magic trick...to capture my bewilderment....
Fully...
Fooly...
Folly...
Tears tremble on edge...carried swiftly from ledge...where they teeter...
Behind each one...is held an ocean...
A watery well...
Endless emotion...
Navigating features...dodging dignities plea...
WE...
Toss the currency of love into the depths...
Whisper wishes on the wind...
The downward dance...a wishes chance...
The murky bottom is but wishful thinking...
I should be rich off the wonder...
That put asunder...Our love...
I am Vesuvius...
Just below the surface...
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 12:50 PM UTC
Listen to this @ https://soundcloud.com/spiritbarehear/the-living-instrument
PRESSURE - like animal skin stretched over the head of a drum,
my heart,
BEATING, like ancient hands, BEATING
an even more ancient rhythm, BEATING. BEATING.
tribal eyes wide, pupils bare, BEATING
with ayahausca or psilocybin, ibogain or some sort of villlage speed
BEATEN. BEATEN.
with dirt and herbs, a lion's adrenal gland to make the Super Amphetamine,
royal in it's derivatives
and it makes the heart BEAT BEAT BEAT
like a prisoner in the straight jacket of lungs it BEATS and screams blood into bursting vessels
it BEATS like the misunderstood youth of the 20th Century, the frenetic spirit HOT and LOUD
and lost...
POUNDING HEART BEAT NO MORE FOR THE NON-SHIT GIVERS!
leave it to the liver to filter out those toxic connections that evoke those dire emotions
arresting both the heart and the breath
IF I AM TO FEEL CLOSE TO DEATH
let it be because if I were to live any longer in a happiness, it would just be unfair to the rest
that if I were to live any longer in a happiness
the whole of my being would fold into the openness of my chest
IF I AM TO FEEL CLOSE TO DEATH
it will not be caused by a PANIC, a PANIC caused by a PUSH, a PUSH caused by discontentment, discontentment caused by impatience, and impatience caused
by the resounding WUBwubWUBwubWUBwub of a beating heart.
THE LIVING INSTRUMENT.
living instrument, sing to me what is meant
living instrument, can you forget
what once made your strings as heavy as led?
what once made you wrench?
living instrument, twice as large as the machine in the skull, why do we bother with loving?
living instrument, are you solid enough to take this fall?
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 10:33 AM UTC
Ask me what it feels like to be dead inside. Go ahead. Ask.
I know you're curious.
It's like swimming in circles.
You can't see the shore and you can't see past the surface of the water. You're moving but you're not making any progress and it's frustrating. Your muscles are on fire and you're hungry but you keep going because what else is there to do? You could stop and just wade but you know that if you do that you'll give up that much quicker. You wonder what it would be like to surrender and let the water wrap you in it's unknowable depths for the rest of time. You wonder how deep it is and what it's like down there but you figure you'll end up there inevitably someday anyway so you keep going for the time being.
You can change the way you move through the water and how fast you go but you never stop swimming. There's a variety of weather and waves you experience. Sometimes it's nice and the water is calm and you can forget about the emptiness you feel inside and do the backstroke to feel the sunlight on your cheeks but other times it's cold and the choppy waves smash into your face and sting your eyes and all you can focus on is your breathing over the burning in your joints. Nevertheless, you swim and swim and swim without any destination, waiting for the next change to come.
You do a lot of thinking. You wonder what it must be like to feel anything other than longing and discontentment and exasperation. You ponder the big questions and answer the little ones and you try to fill the void inside you with complicated concepts and pretty words. You thoroughly analyze yourself, coming to terms with everything that makes you what you are. You're not happy but not sad either. You're not even somewhere in between. You gave up crying a long time ago because it never helped anything but you still laugh when you get the chance. You're very practical and proud of your cognitive abilities but you also suspect that they are the reason why you don't experience emotions the way other people seem to. You once read "Those who are sensible about love are incapable of it" somewhere and you think just maybe that applies to all the feelings you don't feel. This almost makes you feel distraught, or maybe you just want it to. Regardless, you contemplate anything and everything to distract yourself from the never-ending circles.
You swim and swim and swim and swim because that's all you can do and all you want
all you've ever wanted
is to feel alive
but you don't know how.
And that, my friends, is what it feels like to not feel anything at all.
Swimming in circles.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
Many a time I've thought long and hard
Long have I picked at this stabbing splintered shard
Is He here or is He just an idea that's been long embedded
If He's here, then why do my eyes they both seem covered
Many a time I've questioned why I don't want to see
Because I really feel like it's only happening to me
I've pondered and tried to view for many different lenses
I've wondered aplenty why I haven't come to my senses
Many a time I've reassured myself with the following
That He does not give when you know you're not deserving
Challenges for you He does not wilfully make
Only those which He knows you definitely can take
Many a time that I've asked if I really do believe
When my discontentment triumphs and over it I grieve
I know that if in my heart I want Him found
It's time that I finally pulled my head out of the ground
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 4:38 AM UTC
I am a body of discontentment
Arms and legs of regret
Fingers of lies
A face of deceit
A torso of promised potential
All the parts together
Make up my human shape
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 8:01 PM UTC
*Destiny will not be found
in the realm of time
Limited to our own imaginations
We are all but strangers in this land
It is those who find a belonging to this world
who are truly lost
Echoes we chase of discontentment
Searching for pieces we think we lost
or never had
Hearing the voices inside and out
Declaring "You Don't Belong"
Wanderers, explorers, seekers at best
Life is a Sojourn
not a place to nest*
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC
So this is defeat.
This place in which helplessness and discontentment meet.
This off rhythmic step to a melancholy beat.
It seeps into the creeks where light once resided.
Confiding to no one the fears that I hide when shedding my tears in places pride cant thrive in.
Defeat.
This feeling that cant be beat nor destroyed.
This strong-force that makes all joyful things void.
In this world so dark and dim, I ask myself "where do I begin?"
How do I open the windows to my soul to shed the light in?
For it's harder than it seems... the fall of shattered broken dreams.
This place where self-destructive schemes and life's worn down seams meet.
Defeat.
-Bobbie Leigh
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 6:00 PM UTC
Streetlights passing by reflected
In her storm of mixed
Emotions render her tears
Falling stars.
Makes a wish with every salty
Drop on her lips.
Lips one man would touch briefly
With the tip of an adoring thumb, and
By that satisfaction alone
Die fulfilled,
While others see her as a tool, tossed
Back into the box when dull and
Exhausted.
Fit for a throne, yet only every odd evening
Finds her way to bed from the sofa
Before sleep finds her fading with fatigue.
Shoulders, neck, back, wrists, all
Aching in unison; a choir of
Discontentment, yet still driven by the
Love for her teenage
Kings.
I always hope she's laughing. I
Always hope she sleeps.
In my mind I rest a hand upon her
Belly when she dreams; the
Only way she'll accept a touch
Without shying away
With a faint, forced smile.
Beams of full moon finding their
Ways through bedroom curtains to her
Nearly closed eyes. She yawns a tear or
Three and turns towards the pale
Warmth; moonlight again rendering
Them falling stars.
No wishes for now.
Rest is her only lover.
I always hope she sleeps.
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 9:11 PM UTC
Wake up it’s a beautiful morning,
like the infinity of a closed chain;
lists keep growing, brain-freeze again.
As long as there’s tomorrow, not today.
Succinct intentions imprinted by a hoot;
how can a sub-conscious refuge,
de-commission the projected truth?
A 24-hour religion, is that all it is?
So which way is it to be tomtom?
Intrepidation never failing,
or honour ‘the’ grand unveiling?
Side-step: back to back-warming Oracle.
Pride appoints a distilling of hidden stature;
forget the dentistry of a mounted gift,
sensitivity not deserving an emotional spendthrift.
No mentions of a game, but you have to play.
Rationalising the intensity of late;
surely that’s an impossibility of squirming feet?
Solution follows a tryst of the elite,
subjects must therefore be; for it to make sense.
Periodic patterns of revolving chrome-vanadium,
lends itself nicely to discontentment
and occasionally promotes relinquishment;
summer sun; does it matter?
Survival make-up – check.
Abrupt journey’s end; in your face.
An odyssey not started yet, offers no grace.
Relax, the God’s haven’t even begun their terror.
The bottom of a barely coping universe it might just be;
Curious are the similarities to sinking sand.
Submerge as you extend your hand?
Or do I just simply do nothing, and nothing happens?
Rat-out the analytical introspection monster;
For when you can see your own reflection in a black-hole;
A bonus penalty shot at life’s ultimate goal;
Then a neutered Neutron star is a good thing to be.
Mar 19, 2010
Mar 19, 2010 at 3:38 PM UTC
*Among the sea of discontentment
There is always a green isle
Have to swim against the tide
Land of hope waiting for weary swimmer
Who has paddled the rough seas
Finally finding a paradise*
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 2:10 AM UTC
Bright-eyed and bold
With dreams that unfold
Artless, naïve and hopeful
A certain unease, that shifts with the breeze
Afflicts you
You think that bliss
Doesn’t come with just a kiss
But to other lands you fly
In your mind, unsatisfied
Such discontentment inside
Wishing….
Wishing for walks, for long midnight talks
The hearth of a snowbound cabin
Mysterious scenes from a cinema screen
Fill your mind
If I could make all your dreams come true
And take you to Heaven – I would
You’d still be wishing for more
Always unsettled, unsure
Wishing… wishing…
Wishing for grace, a moonlit embrace
Tears bathing hands at parting
A silk-curtained room, and the finest perfumes
Are your due
When you survey your reality
It makes you turn away, away
You grow detached day by day
Wishing for what - you can’t say
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 1:25 PM UTC
will my endeavor be fruitless ?
did I neglect slumber,
live in solitary for days,
numb my sorrow with alcohol
trap myself within the same walls I get lonely in
being only distracted by the scribbling of this pen on a paper
just to leave thou with discontentment ?
a poets worst nightmare;
(an underappreciated piece)
I am writing a poem for one who has words in the palm of her hands
like God has the earth
I am writing to one whom words bow down to her feet
like prophets to God while on his throne he seats.
Is my piece profound enough to make thy beautiful brown eyes water
or make your skin prickle with goosebumps ?
will my words speak to you in ways no one ever has that my piece becomes your drug when you want to flee from all that chastises you ?
I can only hope the first stanza grasps your attention
and you get lost in poetic bliss
and the last leaves you breathless
to the point you crave my kiss
to restore air to your dying lungs.
But that's probably just wishful thinking
your least liked piece is probably more breathtaking than my most cherished
you leave your readers satiated by your words and rhythm that they now worship you.
they yearn to ease their angst by reading what you vent.
how intimidating it is to write a poem to a poet
great anxiety as they fixate their eyes on the paper
you hope, you just hope they don't roll their eyes in disdain at the last full stop.
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 1:19 PM UTC
I’m chasing an early grave down Euclid Ave
and no one is looking in the right direction
Did i mention i was on fire?
This is store-bought depression
with the white plastic bag that says THANK YOU in red lettering
Now its turned to blood
This is how you feel
when you can’t recall where you were during 9/11
Give me your mass-produced discontentment
I want to smoke and not die
Sometimes i dont want to die at all
Today the oldest person in the whole-wide world took her last breath
she was 117
On her birthday last march she said her life felt too short
Where the **** does that leave me
I wish i were born a lobster so id
get stronger and meatier with age
and then when I’m at my prime they’d ****** me up
to sell on the market for a few hundred dollars
When you devour me remember to wear something nice
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 7:33 PM UTC
In those days of woe with head hung low
In those moments of regret,
When your actions lose momentum
And your heart begins to fret.
When the best of plans do not work out
When your mountain seems too steep
And tractions lost in everything
And losing makes you weep.
Hard grafting wears your bones too thin
Your tomorrows fade to mist,
The splendour of your recent past
Despatched to moments missed.
Frustration that the rainbow plans
Have dwindled in the rain,
That your brilliant expectations
Have expired to things mundane.
Your stature has diminished
In the eyes of those you love,
Your capableness stultified
By the pointing velvet glove.
Self confidence is wilted now
Belief within less sure,
Potentialities diminishing
With every shrunken score.
Dark sombre thoughts receeding
Blue corners fade to gold,
Discontentment ****** asunder
As new amber dreams unfold.
The towering unhappiness
Diffuses to the air
And spirals of positivity
Emerge from here and there.
The path beyond the shadowed lane
Is there for you to tread,
Gird your soul for chance my friend
Discard the shoes of lead.
There must be dreams to savour
There must be goals to meet,
So launch your bold tomorrows
And delight in unknowns sweet.
You’re sailing in fair breezes now
The silver waters flow,
Warm sunshine on your shoulders
Rich contentment’s fine red glow.
For there must be dreams to savour
To hold within your heart,
To engage the thrill of living
And make each day a joy to start.
Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
7 June 2009
Oct 21, 2009
Oct 21, 2009 at 12:43 AM UTC
I miss you like the day you left,
with tears in my eyes,
forming angry rivers of deep seeded sorrow
and jealousy that I wanted to drown in.
We never said I love you,
But we could feel it trembling behind our lips with our last kiss.
Goodbye was painful enough without the dagger of truth
cutting into our chests.
When we found that one way ticket
my heart dropped like a pin in a silent room.
You were stoic like the Mona Lisa,
determined in your lack of discontentment
while I sobbed you away.
The worst of it was in the the future of irresolution.
I would never know if you’d come to love the world
more than me.
I would never know if I wasn’t Home
for you, anymore.
I would never know, if I waited long enough,
steadfast in my domesticated loyalty.
I’d sit, like an old dog, on your tacky foyer welcome rug,
waiting to tell you that I’ve not forgotten.
And if you never came back here
I’d still miss you like the day you left.
I had to tell myself that it didn’t make sense to count days,
or months, or years, if it came to it,
because even as my Sun rises,
and your Moon also does,
we still think
of that bed
that we’d fall in
and out of.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 5:09 AM UTC
Best are those whom you meet by chance
when you cared less and free from heart
everyone stood equal and no one apart
it was easy moving with flow with no draft
through the happy and through the sad
from chirpy loud to silence
you withstood by me
immense patience bottled inside you had
nothing did I leave to not turn you upset
out of mind and puzzled in my own quest
like a rock in cold and night
I am indebted with your gestures of not taking a flight
I have never seen discontentment in you
you had been so constant in my life
Words fall short to explain somethings
so I'll just say a Thanks to you
Manisha
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 6:50 AM UTC
I listened to the hush that immersed the day
And could not stand the stillness
I felt the deepest hunger in my soul to try to see
What I could do to fill this
This silence worried me and yet I did not know
Exactly what it was I hungered for
I only knew that this discontentment that I felt
Was something I absolutely abhorred
Tears shimmered in my soul at this frustration felt
In this emptiness in which I did abide
While this hunger continued gnawing in my soul
My whole being began to cry
With sudden jubilation, I realized exactly what I needed
To end this emptiness that I felt inside
And as I lifted up my voice in song and sang aloud
My hungering soul no longer cried
Jun 3, 2010
Jun 3, 2010 at 7:54 PM UTC
i sat there mystified,
my eyes lost in hers.
i searched fruitlessly for something witty to say,
trying to coax out a smile, a laugh.
as her quiet discontentment radiated outward,
i yearned to pick the right words,
some way to calm the storm brewing.
my thoughts flickered to earlier that day:
her eyes, deep, sparkling jewels.
her hair framing every stunning feature of her face.
her laugh, a luxurious liqueur,
and i longed to drink and drink and drink.
all i wished to do, was to bring her to that place again,
to bring her joy; to make her happy.
May 9, 2010
May 9, 2010 at 9:49 PM UTC
I may mistake the modern day for Salem.
We seem to be mirroring the crazy then verbatim.
Back then, the hysterical banter was of witchcraft and bewitchment.
Now it’s plotless allegations with no plausible way to prove it.
Someone accuses another of a devious deed,
No trial, no proof, I guess that’s no longer a need.
Just escort them, with haste, to the center of the stage,
Light the fire and burn them alive,
Leaving the liar to tell another lie.
The only witchcraft that I see,
Is how people, so thoughtlessly,
Get so passionate about events so petty,
That they become a mob, a stormy sea.
It has nothing to do with their lives,
But they see a cause and sharpen their knives.
A primitive desire to antagonize,
What we believe to be bad, but based on lies.
Truth has become subjective,
Despite its definition, objective.
I can spur a web of lies,
Witchcraft in disguise.
No need for evidence, it doesn’t have to be airtight,
Just enough to incite the urge to fight.
Isn’t that a sorry sight?
“Burn the witches!” They’d scream in Salem.
“Cancel them!” Is the modern verbatim.
They don’t deserve to tell their side,
Just shut them down and ostracize.
Guilty until proven innocent,
Dripping with bitterness and discontentment.
It’s a lose-lose for the accused,
At least they don’t meet their end at the end of a noose.
Perhaps the witches we need to burn,
Are the ones who accuse without evidence to confirm.
Why is the burden of proof on the accused,
And not the ones who defame and misuse,
Justice for a few moments in the news?
Burn naivety, which says that people always tell the truth,
And understand that, sometimes, people are just cruel.
Send the liars out into the center of the stage,
State their case, their proof, and who’s to blame.
Due process, not this foolish nonsense,
Based on feelings used against us.
Before we’re all bewitched by passion,
Which overcomes our reason.
Sep 3, 2025
Sep 3, 2025 at 8:13 PM UTC