"dissatisfying" poems
don’t tell me “I love you” ~by Roxanne, for Cyrano~
<>
that’s a verse I’ve heard many too times before,
that’s a curse of low majesty, a quatrain too plain,
if that’s your best sally, retreat, say no more,
too simp verses, or ungolden silences, agents of dissatisfying pain
I need the best of your taste
the finest visions that you eyelids occlude,
make haste for my mouth grows exceedingly
impatient for the other senses to do their tandem wooing
slap only my face with the creature comforts others savor,
words of diamonds and pink pearls mined from your breast,
the bejeweled words that will decorate my evergreen,
that never dies, lest, unless and until,
you want my mortal affection suppressed
give me your linguistic promiscuity, wake me from the stupor
of ordinary, arouse me with thy tongue coiling, a bee sting delivery,
a wet poem that makes all my orifices!|offices weep, your mouth,
my souls recouper,
your wizardry bewitching,
answer my inquiry with unbounded festivity
then and after all, the plain simplicity of an “I love you,”
will be edged with sublimity, my mercies, your mercies
our jointed, sharp pointy, introverting, interlocking,
*our futures becoming
our pasts*
11:07am
19-9-30
<>
https://thenewgroup.org/production/cyrano/?gclid=Cj0KCQjwz8bsBRC6ARIsAEyNnvoENpdnWyqeUEwq0avNStgWCf4CocB1i239c2mHdNSFF8gOlWZtfjsaAls4EALw_wcB
Oct 10, 2019
Oct 10, 2019 at 11:35 AM UTC
Revisited Merak harbor one late evening
a shape of sea fairy and colorful torches
were seen from afar , chattering calls in 4 languages. 4 squalls in once was a plage
their dancing flames asked me to come closer
I hurried along the sleepy shipyards
passing massive warehouses fenced by rusty wooden doors
giant padlocks accenting (reminded me of a fancy cocotte loaded with blingbling)
stacks of oversized containers solidly sat speechless. Sleepless.
The light of each torch lifted into the sky. Seen by another eye
1883 eruption of the Krakatau crater. 130 years later the odor of its curators
I ran closer. I fell. I laid there a while , got up and ran again.
I lost my head and missed my right foot along the way. I did not care.
When I arrived the torches were there in front of me
reincarnated into thousands inhabitants who had lost their lives
bodies covered with revolting cesspit oil
For a second they transformed into torches again. One blazing in my hands.
Regretfully, I had lost my head so I did not understand.
The fairy stared . I wasn't scared.
: come, come, …come purifying Sunda strait
dissatisfying the idiots thought it could all be fixed with tax rate
I moved toward embracing fairy arms
(Possibly, this close hugging love was only for beach-sea friends)
So, I united with the torches
A bit of a breach pushed us towards the petroleum . Demolished it all. Cannonball.
Black fog shrieking that same words : Keep up the struggle . Stay strong !
The alien residents might think I was making choices
but the fairy was leading me around
the torches reshaping the ghost-town
Chattering calls in 4 voices. 4 languages.
Yet, for the officials ears , all were still voiceless. Pointless.
(Pulo Merak - Cilegon - Indonesia )
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 12:27 AM UTC
My thoughts are dazed…
Claustrophobic and hazed.
I’m exhausted and unamazed,
Fatigueness of some kind, low from the natural high.
Thoughts in my mind are delusive and unkind.
Dizzy and feeling quite fizzy
Not in the mood for studying, excitement, and fun.
Sitting by my lonesome self just writing what I can process.
Head feels heavy, got me feeling a bit queasy
Uneasy
Zoned out and lost in my thoughts
Sun is out and the wind is harsh…
It’s skin prickling and dissatisfying.
My exhaustion is sickening.
Absolute death and no reason
No fret
But anguished in my enclosed mind
But no threat…
System overkill
Discredit and disregard
Explain but disagree and make it hard
Exhalation and permutation
Loss of existence and clouded perception
Obsessive minds and sniffed up lines
Excessive amounts and numbers you cannot even count.
Broken, ripped, torn, and outwardly worn.
A lost ghoul, selfish, and for more you mourn.
Poor and dead, not yourself, completely blacked out and unconscious in bed.
Overdosed on the ****** pills, suicide attempts never work…
Let the meds pour…
Gone, so gone…
Just let the meds pour...
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 8:31 AM UTC
The light dims.
The fire dies.
Darkness fills in the blanks.
Sweet release.
Tears against my cheek.
Now met with the dissatisfying drought.
Left alone in desolate cold.
Fear overwhelms.
Not fear of monsters or the simple unknown.
Fear that when my eyes grow heavy I will never lift them again.
I will become a stone.
Unmoved and cold.
To survive these nights alone.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 11:28 PM UTC
Why employ an ordinary word
When an extraordinary one
Excels?
Let us wed, let us vow,
Henceforth, let us never
Wish ourselves away plain humbly,
Goodbye.
Let us end our day,
Bid our lovely comings,
The tragedy of our departures
With a gentling
Fare thee well.
In the company of the dawn,
Let us greet the one
Who lies besides us a stirring,
Not with merest hello, morning or
The accursed howareyou,
Replace haste with a deliberate
*Welcome, well comely,
To this newborn day!*
Tho do confess,
That like numerous others
Who have counted the ways,
There is no sweetener substitute for
I love you.
I will n'ere address thy grace
With appellation dissatisfying of "girl"
When woman suits thee best,
With all its attendant glories.
Should we encounter upon the street,
Address me as man,
For of that word I am a fan,
But say it not with routine irrelevance,
But in tones of softest reverence,
For I am not a child or dude,
A sir or sire, a mister mister,
But I am a man.
Our lives are not a game of chance,
Yet chance aplenty do we countenance.
Having stumbled, fallen into a subterranean,
A place where I know thee well
But likely not your face, your visage,
Thy honest name,
Accept these excelsiors as mine
Poeming opening gambit,
My closing statement,
Summary of the that, that has and yet to pass
Between us:
Peace be upon you.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 5:49 AM UTC
criss·cross (krĭs′krôs′)
~~~
verb:
criss·crossed, criss·cross·ing, criss·cross·es
1. To mark with crossing lines.
2. To move back and forth through or over:
noun:
1. A mark or pattern made of crossing lines.
2. A state of being at conflicting or contrary purposes.
~~~
Oh Steve,
you nailed me
one mo' time,
to this cross of mine,
it's composition,
wood of linear mish mash, and the
nails, of a clear liquid substance,
drops of contradictory emotions
insight inside,
your practiced spécialité,
disarming the self-arming, harming,
we let our minds assemble reasons why,
in order to ourselves
dissemble
I keep hammering myself
unsure why, unclear the charge,
unknown the inevitable outcome
but the lines are continuously crossing, indeed,
but the intersections dissatisfying, in deed,
which is why theses words sores,
seeded by your words,
both burst and languish,
taking to the limitless limit,
of deep water oil exploration
unsure if I want to discover,
unknown if I want to uncover
the essential oils,
the caustic causing lyes,
that anoint these graying hairs,
blind his eyes,
both resting upon a furrowed, burrowed,
a puzzled forehead expression of
confusion about such simple line items as
life everlasting
out of bounds,
out of town,
writing poetry,
down by Richie Haven's San Francisco Bay,
listening to Norah Jones, wailing plaintive,
another Pandora perfect choice
"Don't Miss You At All"
am I stuck on an endless, repeating rifle
firing blanks of repetitious, line life patterns,
or worse,
forever trapped in the colorless
spaces between,
wondering if I can answer-handle
Stevie Nick's pre-vision precsion
pinpricking, questioning,
about the seasons of our life
*" but time makes you bolder,
even children get older,
I'm getting older too...
and if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills,
well, well, the landslide will bring it down*"
so in this out of state, out of mind,
drinking up these meandering ramblings,
experiential wondering not,
if
the summer sunshine,
only the
when,
it will return,
and the lines drawn upon my face
sun burnt,
cease their
meaning meandering
re life's line items such as
life everlasting
~
Market Street
San Francisco,
two thirteen two thousand sixteen
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 1:53 PM UTC
To Whom it may concern,
I am unable to locate or purchase Dijonnaise at any local store in my area. This has been an issue since the beginning of 2021. Is this product being discontinued? Amazon and other online retailers offer highly marked up versions of this product but this East Coast/West Coast, Hellmann's/Bestfoods branding has always been off-putting to me, especially in this day and age plus I despise supporting Amazon or similar box stores/corporations. I would also be more likely to purchase Dijonnaise if it came in a glass container. Plastic is not what millennials want and it no longer "makes it possible" as the ads of yesteryear have stated. I use Dijonnaise very often, I am highly disappointed with the small and awkwardly shaped plastic containers, plastic squeeze bottles make it very difficult to expel or retrieve the entirety of the product. I am strongly considering switching to Durkee's brand mustard in the future as they have always used glass containers, I would mix it with Trader Joe's mayonnaise since it is the only one I can find in a glass container. I understand that the added weight of glass cuts into your profits when distributing your products but I have not seen an advertisement for Dijonnaise in years, where are all these profits being spent? The main reason I purchase Dijonnaise is for the nostalgia of the television ads I grew up watching containing a parody of the song "Duke of Earl". I would strongly recommend re-running these retro advertisements on YouTube ad services in the future if you want to keep this product in production. I feel there is no need to attempt re-creating these ads either, it would be a waste of resources and a disappointment to those who grew up with the original versions. I work in marketing and people are voting with their dollars nowadays, your structure and model could benefit from some evaluation. Please tell me how to buy your product locally and take note that myself and many others prefer plastic free packaging. Thanks for your time. Please do not sell my information or use it to contact me for anything not mentioned above.
Sincerely
...
The response I received was that the product has been discontinued. I was offered a coupon for a complimentary 8oz jar of Mayonnaise as it's the only product still available in a glass container. Unfortunately this is only sold on the opposite side of the Rocky Mountains from my location and only at limited locations. How dissatisfying...
Mar 10, 2021
Mar 10, 2021 at 12:45 PM UTC
I love all good poems,
and how they make me
feel whole but deboned,
de~parted,
sometimes cleansed
sometimes *****
sometimes ashamed,
occasionally fried,
occasionally enlived,
often all of these,
simultaneously
I love how mine please you,
breaking the knots of anonymity,
unleashing the little white package
strings of connection, and, when yours,
make me guffaw, or even a better, person-age,
when we weep deep in our recesses where the
just-beneath-the-surface emotes, are pricked and
brought to the surface, for the first time, or the last of time,
exposed, curated, healed, leaving but a tiny sore, that lingers
on the body's surfaces,where all things.are etched that
are needy for a reminding of the when,
and here, right there, is the where,
but your loving of likes somehow
dissatisfying, like a kiss, perfunctory, skullduggery
or dis genuine, a hit and a move on,which is why,
I treasure your comments, long or short,
insightful or delightful, critical or critique(e),
just a tender heart of appreciation, a snuggle
from the sea, throned out of Jonah's whale...
rounded bellicose belly
but they render me
alive,
when they split and spit me, to you,
you, to each, defined in pieces, gratitude
nuggets, each, treasured, each hugged, each letter,
a custom bespoke of connectivity and
who needs friends, when your words
embrace me so deep repeat and touch me
in places where my heart must follow on & on.
now many poems you commission with every exposition.
even the dimplest thanks is a vibrato of pleasuring sounds, that
you, you, you, took that particular moment of time to
express the heartfelt, destroys the invidious
that does quiet creepily slides inside us,
saying I am your comforter false,
but is not!
use your words, that,
they to the children teach; let us too
embrace this honorific so terrific, and touch each other with
comments, a sharing, and the sol shines on
'we two too, for all to seer and see
Aug 4, 2025
Aug 4, 2025 at 2:32 PM UTC
(Not those dissatisfying)
Sugar water memories
Sweet without substance
Our turn to flavor
The drink of the day
Fighting with hoses and sticks
Sprinting after cars
Chasing down a train
Fueling our fires
Cramming into a phone booth
Rocking out to Queen
Picking up 2am trash
Cooking awful things
And after every night
We're drunk on coffee
And late night window shopping
With lots more to keep
(Than sugarwater drinks)
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 11:55 PM UTC
i
you are dreaming: dreaming about your brother in spirit, brother in arms, you two sides of the one coin, him without his name but in every other way all the same. oh my brother, hiding in a hotel room with no windows, speaking in tongues, speaking in nadsat—dreaming of bowing your head to him, bearing your neck. if it is dissatisfying to you, cut it off.
ii
here it is perfectly silent. your mouth moves without a single sound and the fish clean away every trace of your blood: their gills tremble, inwards, outwards, endless; their scales shine like the moon upon the surface. you are born today into a monstrous world, a better world, and Lilith's womb ends at the shoreline—seaweed entangles itself round your ankles, the last despairing traces of an umbilical cord, sixteen years late. if it is dissatisfying to you, cut it off.
iii
serpent, sink your teeth into the apple of Adam; his throat wields to your fangs like the tired breath of a lingering lovers mouth. his hands are rough but your skin is rougher. today, Eve laid down asleep under your bones, your heart beats its last. everyone you have loathed is forgiven. everyone you have loved is not. but forget theology for a moment. you are dreaming. you are dreaming, and the rush of a thousand years of rain around you is your wakeup call—in your navel collects an ocean, in your eyes is painted a storm. civilisation on fast-forward sets up between your bones. sorrow makes a home of your heart. ashes to ashes, water to blood: if it is dissatisfying to you, stand and let it die.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 12:23 PM UTC
Shiver
Patter
Pitter
Ombre colored
Gout
Pressed flush to bone
Hellions march
Witch tip
To cat tail
Rift n eager
Expectations above meager
Grammarly says this texts sounds dissatisfying
Ouch
So upon couch I settle
Lights ground to the pestal
Twill flicker no more
So no knocks at the door
Oct 31, 2019
Oct 31, 2019 at 3:54 PM UTC
you want to take a look into my self-image?
my mirror is not even cracked
(i would hate that symbolism)
but **** do i look distorted.
I'm always too fat and my acne is impressive,
my hair is too flat or frizzy or greased,
Every look there's something dissatisfying
but god, sometimes the way you look at me...
not even that, I guess. I don't need another's affection
to forget about my own distaste (though it helps)
but mainly it's just the moments I am smiling and with the right people
that I forget about the distortions of my body and my face
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
There is a certain uncertainty within me that i cannot quite identify. It is unsettling. I think it somehow connected with my dissatisfaction when it comes to the doctrine of universal-ism. I do believe that it is both true and fair that all men must be saved through the blood of the Lord- God -Jesus Christ,shed to reconcile man and God upon a cross at Calvary. I find dissatisfying the idea that God would somehow choose what men go to hell and what men do not, and think even that If god were such a God, i would not want to be his son. I think it foolish to apply some philosophical extension of guilt to God, when God is guilty only of love, the creation of man and man's free will to love, and be loved. God is no more guilty of man's decisions to reject Christ than the father of a murderer is guilty of the blood of his son's ****** victims. Surely, there may seem to be some guilt, but there is no perpetration of violence or wrong, there is only adherence to nature. A man's nature to produce children, alongside the nature of a murderer to **** result in due consequence. God's nature to love and to seek his own glory, and to magnify these qualities in the universe, alongside with man's nature to seek his own glory and interest, result in due consequence. Surely, you may say "God is more guilty because of his omniscience", but is he? I for one, were i to father a murderous child, would, despite his murderous nature , love him. I would not wish he did not exist. But what i would do, was wish that he had not perpetrated his murderous actions- for my love for my son, and for my love for others, my compassion, and my humanity. This is much like God. He, though he knows there are those that are among his children who would be murderers, in a sense, killers of their own eternal souls through the rejection of Christ, persists in love and compassion for humanity through the creation of those humans. You may also say that there is some difference in that God chooses how he creates a man to be, whereas a father does not choose exactly the child he creates, so much as simply choosing to create. This, i will admit, is true. But, i do not think constitutes the guilt of God in choosing. The reason is thus: ****** is indeed an act of free will. Free will is necessary unto love, that love does not descend to become slavery. Love is the very nature of God, and though God is supreme in power, and has the ability to make any choice he chooses, choosing not to love would be contrary to the very being of God. This makes creating, even a murderer, an act of love, and an act much less of a choice than it may seem.
God is not guilty after all.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 6:38 PM UTC
The boy didn't know
if he was ever happy
the way others were.
He was happy
a lot of the time,
these days,
but
he wasn't sure it was the sort of happiness
that other people felt.
He had always been different,
and his experiments with
counseling,
medication,
yoga,
exercise regiments,
diets,
religion,
alcohol,
love,
work,
and ambition
always ended with the same dissatisfying result.
He could not exceed
the bounds and bonds of somber, solemn, solitude
for long.
He always drifted back
to the shores of sadness and slowness of mind.
He had a soul like a nervous bird
and it never stayed
in one emotion
for long.
Generally, it flew back to the nest
it had made
up high in the boughs
of quiet, calm, hopeless sadness.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 3:16 AM UTC
I realized we were temporary
When he explained to me
That intimacy
Took on one form: *****
It was more pleasing
To call me obscenities
Referring to me romantically
Felt "unnatural" and "dissatisfying"
To him, I was a fantasy
A tangible painting
But I knew he was momentary
Our fix was temporary
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 11:20 PM UTC
The tiredness that sank into his bones felt so real.
He had no reason to feel exhausted, yet he was.
He rolled out of bed, exhausted.
He went to school, exhausted.
He did everything a good scholar should, exhausted.
Nothing felt energizing.
Everything was another chore on his mental list.
The anxiety of who he was curled in his stomach.
He peered into the mirror, anxious.
He compared his body, anxious.
He thought about what he said, anxious.
He pondered his every action, anxious.
Nothing felt right.
Everything incited an internal panic.
The sadness weighed heavily on his shoulders.
He stayed up at night, feeling blue.
He stayed quiet when out with friends, feeling blue.
He ate constantly, feeling blue.
He immersed himself in his work, feeling blue.
Nothing felt exciting.
Everything was dissatisfying.
Sep 1, 2019
Sep 1, 2019 at 7:53 PM UTC