"euphemism" poems
So I heard once that there’s always
some gnarly looking carrot
in every bag of carrots
and you’re supposed make a wish on it
if you get it.
But I didn’t have a bag of veggies
I had a jar of Gumby and Poki
shaped gummies.
Finally the day came when there
were only two Gumbys left.
One was bent in half and
smashed together
and the other looked as all the rest had.
I pulled out the sad little gummy and
made a wish
like it was some ugly carrot.
I wished my crush would kiss me,
And giddily I walked to a coffee house
because I was hoping he would be there
even though I sternly told myself that
he had no reason to be there.
I found the coffee house closed and knew
my wish wasn’t happening that night.
I talked with a friend about my woes
and she confessed her heartache.
We smiled and laughed and died
just a little on the inside.
We had hoped that in college we wouldn’t
feel like middle school girls
with unrequited crushes.
The next day he dropped off a fish
(and this is no euphemism
or pretty poetry slang,
I opted to fish-sit while
he went home for break).
After he left, and
feeling more than silly
I took out the last Gumby
and pretended.
I pretended that it was every wish
on a boy I had made
since I realized boys weren’t
completely disgusting.
On my way to class
I held the little gummy in my
frozen, clenched fist
and wished
that’d he’d kiss me before he left.
I made it really specific
because every movie I’d ever seen
with genies in it had taught me that
specifics were key to avoiding
mishap and mayhem.
Obviously, it didn’t come true.
And I feel like I’m back in middle school,
wishing on ugly carrots and stars
that look suspiciously like airplanes.
Everyone has crushes,
and still more wishes.
Why I thought
at the age of nineteen
when the glamour of Disney-endings
and romantic-comedy plots
had tarnished to realism,
that a Gumby gummy prayer
would come true,
well I’m not entirely sure.
Maybe it’s no matter how old you are
there are always ugly carrots
and shooting stars
and fast airplanes
and romantic comedies
and gummies in the shape of
kids’ show characters.
Maybe no matter how disappointed I am
there will always be unrequited crushes
and genies for wishes
and God for prayers
and heaven forbid
hope.
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
It is only in the state of galvanization,
do I realize what it means to be impervious in youth.
I have a father who stresses to me this:
"Happiness is elusive."
This is the kind of statement that must be swished around in the mouth,
only to be spat back out.
"Happiness is elusive."
It is cause for concern,
really.
I will do my best in order to refuse to believe it,
to believe him.
Happiness is achieved through discovery.
I think that I may have once had a sister (in my recollection she was very pretty).
I was around her whenever it was deemed possible to do so -- it honestly wasn't too often that I could.
In the very nooks and crannies of my childhood,
if I could fall back unto the natural sublimity of it all;
I do recall that I had a sister.
Her features must have been youthful,
from what I remember she was no more than inexplicable.
If it were not so ambiguous,
I might feel more inclined to speak with her again some day.
The past is a scary thing.
I feel pain in thinking of the lengths behind me,
for what I have cultivated is sour.
Recently a good friend accused me of this:
"Being a recluse, spiteful, selfish person."
Her notion both confused and throttled me,
and only afterward did she speak in such a fervently aural tone:
"That is o.k., you're only human after all."
This is the very comment that sliced my being into a duality,
leaving me to write poetry in order to attempt to find higher acceptance.
Wisdom is a well, funny euphemism for delusion;
And in my youth I am impervious.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 8:26 PM UTC
Staring out my dusty window
I see and admire the view
I enjoy the sight but hardly leave my room
Possibly how I feel about you?
You see, my feelings are so strong
yet so hard to pinpoint
so hard to make into words
so hard to capture
That I'll keep writing ****** poetry
I'll keep chasing songs that remind
me of you
Soon I'll get it straight in my head
at that point I'll just need to get it
straight in my mouth
Then straight to your ear
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 1:39 PM UTC
I have no more poems left in me,
The moonless sky has taken them all away,
And because stars are beautiful I let them be,
Hoping they would light up your way.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 3:57 PM UTC
I want to use all the alterations, Personifications in the world to impress you.
I want to drive you insane with the oxymorons, the metaphors and the similes.
I want to use coliqual words so that I can make you think I'm extremely smart.
When really in reality I'm just average.
I want to use euphemism and lititoes to really make you think I'm that good with words.
When really in reality I have writers block yet I want to capture your attention.
I want to write an iambic tetrameter with the rhyme scheme ABAB so that you notice some part of me in my writing.
I want my words to ****** with your mind so that some part of you thinks about me...
But I have writers block, There's not much I can do to grab your attention.
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
The pierced ego sees
through an opaque lens;
a vestige of hope,
humor and
intellectual solidarity.
Effigies of forgotten ethos,
the culmination of a
fated dream;
unrequited ardor, abandons
identity to an irreducible
fervor,
subtext of tension,
enduring ****** privation;
etude of a paramour
ending torture,
tasting mystical polarity.
The wounded heart
once intruded,
bleeds effusive;
the ornament of humility.
Flattened collateral
damage,
primal search,
proves illusive;
portals of hurt, slivers
of pride,
assembled fragments of
thereness
absorb the loss
of my English muse.
Poetry and devotion
punctuated murmurs
of piety,
depth perception
virtue unfound;
expectation - access
to suffering;
disinterested love
present,
desultory carnage
of rescission,
absurdity personified;
euphemism
of adieu,
the sound of no sound.
The discarded image
finds no favor,
the salt lost it's savor
unquenched thirst;
desire of
diminished purview,
the saporus stream
deferred;
vision eclipsed;
saturated self
hidden in the text.
Poverty asks the
question,
absence summons
ethereal substance
merged into
the immanent frame;
integrating,
in solitude signifying,
mediating - logos
contested
the humiliation of
the word.
Lyrical enigma,
where did I go?
provisional
personality
scorned,
renouncing nostrums
of the prosaic,
surrenders to the
the realm interior
sovereignty
assumed in
provenience,
native
horizon of the next.
©2008 & 2011 W.S. Warner
Sep 3, 2011
Sep 3, 2011 at 6:11 PM UTC
Trump STILL can't stand the thought
That Clinton won the popular vote.
In efforts to cause a major distraction,
He's keeping the voting fraud rumor afloat.
Clinton received two point eight
Million more votes than he--
Votes from voters physically present
Or votes from those voting absentee.
He says that he has evidence
Of widespread fraud. We can surmise
That he has his "alternative facts"--
A handy euphemism for lies.
It's a preposterous, baseless claim,
A mere BELIEF that he maintains,
Another false conspiracy theory,
An insult to people who use their brains.
Voting fraud is an issue
That Trump loves to keep in his sights.
For him it's a very useful excuse
To go after voting rights.
If there was so much voting fraud,
The chances of which are very slim,
Does Trump ever wonder how many
Fraudulent votes went to him?
The more he whines, the more he harps--
He's even driving Republicans mad!--
The more he loses the smattering
Of credibility that he once had.
- by Bob B (1-24-17)
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 8:48 AM UTC
i will hold a gun to my throat myself,
yet somehow,
it is less violent
than the casual words of a god.
mad girls don't cry wolf;
they die. they disappear,
like cobwebs in a darkened corner.
in the shadows, watch me dangle
with a slip knot of fuchsias.
in the shadows,
watch me dig this body up,
until there is a layer of skin
and black lips and lithium quartz
and clichéd promises
you haven't touched.
after all, archaeology is
just an excuse
to look straight at my remains.
in the shadows,
let my skin cave in;
i will take everything down —
every misery, every deception,
every corruption, and every light.
i will ***** out the ******* sun
if it kills me,
leaves me cold as bygone walls.
yet somehow,
it is less violent
than to be loved by a god, until he doesn't.
to be loved by a god, but it isn't.
to be loved by a god: a euphemism, at best
to be loved by a god
is the curse.
May 15, 2021
May 15, 2021 at 2:04 AM UTC
shadows collapse under the weight of their owners.
a day-to-day routine controls all that i am, and i cannot break free.
i approach every situation with a feeling of regret and longing for more.
somewhere, i'm fine, but here i am a mess.
time moves like a slug, but sometimes it's a cheetah.
and sometimes it stops and sits still, leaving you alone with your thoughs.
dreams are the only real escape from life, you know.
but my dreams are littered with death and sadness, loneliness and hate.
everything that's present in the real world finds its home in my head.
there's nothing i can do but stand still as time moves in an attempt to gather myself along the way.
coffee-scented breath draws me in for a kiss.
the caffeine i'm addicted to keeps me going more than the motivation of happiness does.
why am i here? better yet, when am i here?
because i'm certainly somewhere else right now.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 3:11 AM UTC
we stole dandelions from the fields
like hard-time criminals
and watched as they melted
in the palms of our hands--
i should have realized it was a
perfect euphemism
for the months to follow.
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
Dilapidated,
I hang on the precipice of perdition.
My lacerated synapses,
struggle to usurp the assailant
who created my beautiful crimson demise.
I'm weary of being ostensibly content,
with all of this malice and prating that enshrouds me.
Lets not mask this with useless euphemism.
I'll make this as equivocal as I can.
Its time for this dalliance to end.
Its time I end my diminutive existence.
Dec 22, 2011
Dec 22, 2011 at 11:49 PM UTC
You don't love
me;
you love the
tip of the iceberg
that is your idea of me;
the sugar-coated mute
leading herds
of unfinished sentences
down the copious hills
of his insecurity;
the nice little writer
whose constant attempts
at legendary one-liners
are as hit-or-miss
as a sitcom still airing
far past its prime.
I possess three biomes,
or, rather, three networks
of personalities and identities.
I am much more than
the Jack Macfarland archetype
lip-syncing to Cher in the one
gay bar in town, tyrannically
governing your wardrobe,
possessing a razor-sharp wit
cast toward the backs of his community
in the form of an outdated punchline-
my work on that show
lost its Willful relevance
and Graceful naivete
years ago.
I am of the generation
fed media saturation
three four-hour meals a day,
who ingested cardboard cadavers
as if they were mother's milk
and internally mutated their
thoughts and desires
to fit the compact time frame
of 30 minutes
to settle the series' worth
of traumas and neuroses
while making it home for dinner
to stay tuned for what's
next in the lineup.
Speaking as a casualty of this
inevitable chain of events,
I regretfully declare that even
those who have seen
every episode of myself
for the past six seasons
are still light years away
from the room full of faces
unencumbered by euphemism.
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 10:59 AM UTC
"the words you found yourself exploring
are curdled old decayed & boring
i haven't heard one spoken sentence
but i enjoy the broken remnants
because then i can place & rearrange
the lame explanations on blank pages
replace the phrases i don't care for
erase the reason they were there for
display them as a euphemism
more mistakes to be forgiven
you're pathetic i'm the greatest
you're regretted i'm replaceless
i'm incredible you're a waste
i'm sensible you're outrageous"
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 7:29 PM UTC
Politicians speak about "The Fallen",
Our dear departed servicemen*
Its a nasty euphemism
for the Legion of our dead.
For they did not gently flutter down
like leaves of gold and brown.
They were raked by foes' machines guns
as they fought to take some ground.
They've met slaughter on the beaches,
been slain on distant mountainsides.
They've been sacrificed, quite needlessly,
for some Politicians' pride
Many a mother's heart's been broken
Widows and orphans have been made.
Political Stupidity has dug many a grave.
So don't speak about "the Fallen",
you who haven't borne the fight.
You've never paid the butcher's bill
so what gives you the right?
May 29, 2012
May 29, 2012 at 7:55 AM UTC
My timing is off
The bricks are laid
A fallen trail
Of pretty little
Puzzle pieces
Substitutions
That print and press
All the sickness left
I'm tired
Of making it less
Euphemism
Never did the trick
It sugar coats
It tastes too thick
Rain will hit
And quick tossed
Trail crossed
Will melt away
That imaginary
Bull ****
That you
Always create
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 1:22 AM UTC
The blood in your throat
Milk for the moribund
You choke on need's euphemism
want
Because that is all you have left inside
Solipsism's slave,
Getting down to get up to get down
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 8:17 PM UTC
'All nature seems at work ... The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing ... and I the while, the sole unbusy thing, not honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.'
My fingers can’t trace the origin of the age old euphemism
Its roots planted firmly in childhood paired with sitcom cliches
A conversation never had with my mother
I learned the moment he touched me
My mind buzzed as the sweetest nectar kissed my lips
Arms turned to wings and we flew away
The age of fourteen
A baby learning where babies come from
Innocence poured out like an overfilled glass of milk
When he left I was a hummingbird
Heart at 1260 beats per minute
Fading in and out of anxiety
He was the bee
Flew to the next delicate flower
and ****** her dry like a parasitic insect
Always told to be weary of disguised villains
Old women with apples
Wolves dressed like grandmothers
Never of the natural behavior of pollination
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 2:28 PM UTC
'Under the sky with you..
I wrote a line for you
and as your eyes found the Moon's,
those stars were fixed on you..
'Everything is beautiful, your broken smile too..'
And back at the tree house, I
wrote a poem for you well, tried*
but it was way too simplified..
I needed bigger words like;
The juxtaposition of this composition is too excruciating to be euphemism now..
... So darling let's be real,
You and I, we both know how we feel..
'craving love from others but rejecting it from ourselves..
If only my hugs could heal,
maybe then I could love myself..
'Lying on the field, eyes closed..
I thought of my bow and arrow,
'how I've tried to set the target on your heart,
but the thought of hurting you made it hard to let go..
Do I take your breath away?..
Or am I just a breath away from doing so?..
Oh I just want you. So. Bad.
'So bad that if you hurt me,
I'd hurt you back..
'Write a song, a traumatic chapter for dramatic impact..
If only feelings could change..
but maybe your feelings will..
Maybe one day you'll see everything is beautiful,
.. and I can be too.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 2:14 PM UTC
Hearing nothing but my breath
I wander this war torn city alone.
A cool moist breeze hits me from behind
Signaling the start of a summer thunderstorm.
The smell of the unfallen rain is heavy
As I find my way to an old abandoned park.
The brush consumes an old rusted swing set
I rest at an old bamboo picnic table.
All around me is destruction and rubble
On my left, lightning surrounds black clouds
Quickly moving in to consume the city
The perfect euphemism for this country’s inevitable fate
As the rain begins to fall, the sun dips below the tree line
Casting a shadow on an old apartment building.
Across from it, the swaying palm trees glow orange
A luminous contrast to the storm above them
To my right, a couple is sitting on their balcony
Swallowing the chaos, welcoming the rain
Surrounded by rubble, in this infamous country
They find peace in being together
Jun 15, 2010
Jun 15, 2010 at 5:58 PM UTC
it usually leaps like a swordfish out of the ocean
and I’m able to harpoon it,
but as of lately,
I’m stuck with pond ****
and the tuna on my bad breath.
it’s nowhere to be found;
not in the parks,
the libraries,
the liquor stores
nor the circuit clerk’s office,
I tried fishing it out of the swaps of
spitfire and melancholy
but found nothing
I tried to ****** it with an excessive
amount of trouble and ********
but found nothing
I tried scooping the guts out of myself
like a hollowed out pumpkin and
splattered it with a wet slap
against an old newspaper
but found nothing
there’s nothing here;
no spark,
no imagination,
no ingenuity
what I’m I suppose to do?
as I sit here petting the black
velvet fur of my dog,
my toes won’t stop curling,
my nails are bitten down to the nub
and the stink of aging soars past
like eagles on fire
I have nothing to write about:
no unpopular opinion
no peculiar viewpoint
no bludgeoning over
the banality of
extinction
the only logical thing to do is
head out to see some local
band at a Chicago bar and see
where the alcohol takes me
I need the ammunition
I need the fuel
I need to make
something happen
the hard days of labor have diminished me
through attrition and lack of euphemism
but for right now, no matter how
saturated I am of feeling and thought…
whether I’m
drunk on sleep,
salacious on vulgarity,
grieving with quills,
vacant of *****
dreaming of gout,
reading Géza Csáth,
listening to Sass Dragons,
burrowing under empty houses
or fixing the plumbing for the woman down the hall.
I still
can’t
coax
the word
out.
Feb 13, 2025
Feb 13, 2025 at 10:45 AM UTC
Consent is **** Reality is not.
He picked me up from the Taco Bell, hot summer
day. Played music in the car, but denied me air. “It wastes gas.”
The man I gave my virginity to made me sweat it out on the way to do so.
His pasty torso was covered in unfinished tattoos,
a lifetime reminder of unfinished business. “Would you
like to see my rabbit?” he asked, and I thought that
rabbit was a euphemism for ***** but it wasn’t. He pulled
out a literal white rabbit, and placed it in my hands. The
soft fur burned with a sense of impending doom; of
the contract I’d foolishly signed in my mind. “His name is lucky.”
But I wasn’t. He ****** me hard against his
bed frame while I stared up at a reproduction of a Wicked
poster his fiancé had painted, but not before singing me
an original song- to make you cringe a little harder- off key.
I didn’t know how to give a ******* so I let him split me
in half. And then I suited up in my crisp white shirt, slipped
on my black bow tie, and served people popcorn for seven hours.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC