"fatigued" poems
*today i want the darkness
fatigued with life’s
fictitious smiles
the forest
beckons me
to melt within it
disappearing
like mist
in the wind
i could dance on lightning
fall off a cloud
and become rain
i’d mold down your face
as i fall on it
and be one with you
©2016janetaylor
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 1:00 PM UTC
awakened by the
offsprings cry,
baby powdered
morning dew
showers the room,
coffee stained smiles
shine about
cheerio blanketed
kitchens,
so worrisome
for office tardiness,
the carseat won't lock
into place,
tire marks on
fresh paved driveways,
to daycare tears dry not
she's on time,
fatigued she plants
her seed to the office seat
to grow even less
awaiting to see the smile
of her child and say
her prayers before
falling asleep
-
awaked by the
offsprings cry,
gun powered
morning dew
showeres the village,
rotted teeth smile
amongst the
body-blanketed township,
so worrisome of finding
a slain mother
sister
brother
just like father,
the gun won't lock
into place,
they never will,
tattered couches
paved with the
***** of
slaughtered buildings,
mother's dead
tears dry not,
fatigued,
hands of
grungy drainpipes
plant beside,
holding stagnant
a somber sibling,
tremors ripple
crimson tides,
planted to
grow even less
awaiting to see
the smile of
his mother
his father
his sister
and say his prayers
with brother
before laying down
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 8:29 PM UTC
Suffering
is the landscape
of life.
Hope is
the sustenance
of life.
To avoid suffering
is to avoid life.
Love yourself.
Love other's
even though
they don't
deserve it.
Be gentle
with yourself,
even when utterly
fatigued and
victimized.
Make you life
a poem that
you create
and hold it
close to your
heart.
The best
you can do
is all you can do.
~mce
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC
An enigmatic smile she’s dressed with to chant mystery,
Poets and bards with their magical poesy tried the mystery,
Philosophers and thinkers broke their minds to unravel the secrecy,
Scientists and law makers built hypotheses and verdicts to read hers,
Painters and sculptors fatigued with their colours and clay,
Actors and directors enacted to unknot the thread of obscurity.
Odes and epics, long-written, attempted to sing Lisa’s Smile;
But reflections of their beloveds’ smile read in their verses,
Philosophies and thoughts expressed in huge volumes;
But less understood even the painter’s invention,
Theories and laws built around Science and Law;
But little is the outcome of their propositions sans the mystery,
Colours and clay played on mighty imaginative realms;
But Mona Lisa ne’er spoke of her mystery Smile.
Enactments on massive stages thrilled the collective audiences;
But Mona Lisa hid the mystery of her Smile.
I walked around the garden of poetry with fragrance of mystery,
I saw a poem in her distinctive beauty ruling my mind’s eye.
She smiled at my heart and in turn my heart smiled at her,
Her smile taught me a mystery and it took time to read it;
Yet there was a veil betwixt us, and I took my plume to write.
She took my heart unto her, and I romped in joy.
She’s been decked with melody and rhymes,
And the string of verses stretched beyond the horizon,
Where the mystery of Lisa’s Smile be found.
She took me with her beyond the horizon,
And I followed her with no utterance till our destination.
She laughed at me for my silence;
Yet she smiled unto me; but her smile looked unfathomable.
She smiled and smiled at me; yet she had no utterance for me;
She looked a little bit puzzling unto me, and I had no answer;
Yet her smile dwelled in me, and I invoked the Muse of Poetry.
“Thou art to be a silent lover, and her smile is the answer unto thee,
She’s the Mona Lisa; she can’t speak, but smile and smile.”
I lay on the soil of the kingdom of poetry, imbibing Lisa’s Smile,
I adorn her smile; I worship her smile; I revere her smile,
Let me not move away from the garden of poetry
Till Lisa’s Smile is translated unto me.
I waited and waited and I found the answer:
Lisa smiles and her smile is the love of silence.
My heart rests in silence that her love is felt within.
She uttered into me:”Speak not, but love with smile,
And that the mystery of my Smile and my Smile lasts.”
I know why Mona Lisa smiles.
She loves me with her silent Smile.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 5:17 AM UTC
An enigmatic smile she’s dressed with to chant mystery,
Poets and bards with their magical poesy tried the mystery,
Philosophers and thinkers broke their minds to unravel the secrecy,
Scientists and law makers built hypotheses and verdicts to read hers,
Painters and sculptors fatigued with their colours and clay,
Actors and directors enacted to unknot the thread of obscurity.
Odes and epics, long-written, attempted to sing Lisa’s Smile;
But reflections of their beloveds’ smile read in their verses,
Philosophies and thoughts expressed in huge volumes;
But less understood even the painter’s invention,
Theories and laws built around Science and Law;
But little is the outcome of their propositions sans the mystery,
Colours and clay played on mighty imaginative realms;
But Mona Lisa ne’er spoke of her mystery Smile.
Enactments on massive stages thrilled the collective audiences;
But Mona Lisa hid the mystery of her Smile.
I walked around the garden of poetry with fragrance of mystery,
I saw a poem in her distinctive beauty ruling my mind’s eye.
She smiled at my heart and in turn my heart smiled at her,
Her smile taught me a mystery and it took time to read it;
Yet there was a veil betwixt us, and I took my plume to write.
She took my heart unto her, and I romped in joy.
She’s been decked with melody and rhymes,
And the string of verses stretched beyond the horizon,
Where the mystery of Lisa’s Smile be found.
She took me with her beyond the horizon,
And I followed her with no utterance till our destination.
She laughed at me for my silence;
Yet she smiled unto me; but her smile looked unfathomable.
She smiled and smiled at me; yet she had no utterance for me;
She looked a little bit puzzling unto me, and I had no answer;
Yet her smile dwelled in me, and I invoked the Muse of Poetry.
“Thou art to be a silent lover, and her smile is the answer unto thee,
She’s the Mona Lisa; she can’t speak, but smile and smile.”
I lay on the soil of the kingdom of poetry, imbibing Lisa’s Smile,
I adorn her smile; I worship her smile; I revere her smile,
Let me not move away from the garden of poetry
Till Lisa’s Smile is translated unto me.
I waited and waited and I found the answer:
Lisa smiles and her smile is the love of silence.
My heart rests in silence that her love is felt within.
She uttered into me:”Speak not, but love with smile,
And that the mystery of my Smile and my Smile lasts.”
I know why Mona Lisa smiles.
She loves me with her silent Smile.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 3:07 AM UTC
Distressed tears trickle down a face soiled with dolor
Flooding a pillow with painful memories
drowning every being of hope
Swallowing love in a black hole
Only to be thrown back up
As a wreckage of confused emotion
A sponge soaking up all my ambition
Leaving pessimistic thoughts to fill the cold void where there is only an echo of happiness
My already cracked spirits are fatigued
Sharply cutting through my mind where affection is suffocated
And lust is left gasping for air
My insecurities seek acceptance
Confiding in the cushion that holds every tear
It welcomes my troubles
And shuns my dreams
I am a lost soul
If only I could abide behind a fortress that protects my heart
only then will my tears cease
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 11:57 PM UTC
She sang the trot like she owned the narrative,
as if she was singing about her inner most secret.
-The lady who lost her lover
The place where she met him
The Place with the Camellia flower
It was a place of summer and ray bloomed
while it matched the radiance of the two Paramour
and a reminder of their internal chest thumped in unison
In the street where they first met she stood alone
fatigued with no more breath to give
Many nights shed her tears by the Camellia flowers
Now the flower leave crumbled
The petals showed it's red bruises
and falling like the tear drops
When will the lover come back to her
To the lonely Camellia Flower
When will he come back-
The song ends with a grasp
as this German lady song ends with her whisper
To the Korean Trot song of the past
To the song "Lady Camellia!"
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
i am tired.
not for a lack of rest --
no, i slept quite well last night
and I've had my coffee.
its something deeper, something
inherently present, in the
fibers of my skin,
in my tendons, in my eyes.
i am exhausted,
fatigued by life
by the noise and the silence,
the people, and
the empty rooms,
the light and the dark;
by hope and
despair.
so worn down by the world
that nothing in it can
refresh my mind from the
constant buzzing.
i am tired, and there are not
enough hours in the night
for the type of rest i need.
-U.K. & m.g.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC
I bet you never got to know
That I wasn't always depressed
I was always narcoleptic
Every time I told you I didn't feel good and couldn't see you
I wasn't depressed
I was narcoleptic
That message in March
Where you said you even loved when I was so depressed I couldn't get out of bed
I was narcoleptic
I couldn't help it
People never understand, it's like how you feel when you've been up for days
I was narcoleptic
I could sleep 12 hours
And not feel refreshed, because my sleep doesn't heal me, like it heals you and others
I was narcoleptic
I know I took those stimulants
But they made me edgy and nervous, and I turned into a **** so I didn't take them but
I was narcoleptic
You see, those stimulants, Vyvanse
Made me feel like I'd been up for days but running on 2 pots of coffee because
I was narcoleptic
A man who has been up for days
Is not often the most polite and I hated being impolite so I stopped taking them but
I was narcoleptic
So I spent my days sleeping
Sleeping till noon, then needing to sleep at 3 PM, until 10 at night and then until noon because
I was narcoleptic
Your stepdad said he wouldn't stand for that "crap"
But I couldn't help it, I wanted to see you more than anything and I knew it hurt you but
I was narcoleptic
Not only am I narcoleptic
I think I have fibromyalgia just like my grandmother, who loves you too, I think,
I have fibromyalgia.
Today I'm still narcoleptic with fibromyalgia
But I've found a cure, a mix of two pills, one for the narcolepsy and one for the pain
One pill is designed for nothing but narcolepsy (not ADHD) and the other a narcotic for the pain
You'd have no idea how much better I feel than I did before
You'd have no idea because you don't care to learn who I am
Because I'm not who I was, I'm refreshed, something new, I'm normal for once
Not just feeling bad, not just tired and sore and fatigued, not so depressed I can't get out of bed
Just narcolepsy and fibromyalgia.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 2:29 PM UTC
O Holy Saviour, Friend unseen,
Since on Thine arm Thou bid'st us lean,
Help us throughout life's changing scene
By faith to cling to Thee.
When far from home, fatigued, oppressed,
In Thee we found our place of rest;
As exiles still, yet richly blest,
We cling, O Lord, to Thee.
What though the world deceitful prove,
And earthly friends and hopes remove!
With patient, uncomplaining love,
Still would we cling to Thee.
Though faith and hope are often tried,
We ask not, need not, ought beside;
So safe, so calm, so satisfied,
The soul that clings to Thee.
Blest is our lot, whate'er befall;
What can disturb or who appal?
Thou art our strength, our rock, our all,
Saviour, we cling to Thee.
5.3k
Fingerprints and fibers,
Accumulated talk,
Whispers in the corners,
Bodies demarcated in chalk
On the marble courtroom stairs.
His misery became a pall.
With mourning signs in splattered pairs,
Red flowers on the wall.
All that he had left behind was grief
And powerless rage,
A Tansu chest in high relief,
A coiled brass clock fatigued with age.
Retreating to a white house in Simrishamn,
He’d walk his dog along the shore,
Find sterile clues amongst the sands,
And travel a ferry between two lands.
And now: An experiment! Blame Google Translate for this weird (?) Swedish translation: Please tell me if this is a bad translation!
Fingeravtryck och fibrer,
Ackumulerat samtal,
Viskar i hörnen,
Kroppar avgränsad i krita
På marmor rättssal trappor.
Hans elände blev en pall.
Med sorgsignaler i splatterade par,
Röda blommor på väggen.
Allt som han hade lämnat var sorg
Och maktlös raseri,
En Tansu bröst i hög lättnad,
En spolad mässingsklocka utmanad med åldern.
Att återvända till ett vitt hus i Simrishamn,
Han skulle gå sin hund längs stranden,
Hitta sterila ledtrådar bland sandarna,
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 12:24 PM UTC
Alone I sail across the formidable sea,
Many men have drowned in this stormy weather!
Will the waves devour me to my death?
Where will the Wind of Destiny lead me?
My mind is fatigued by feeling of doubts
As my body has fought many hours to survive
And navigate the dinghy in search of land-
Where will the Wind of Destiny lead me?
Shivering silently in the darkness
My spirit crushed by the ravenous rain!
Should I surrender to the sea of pain?
Where will the Wind of Destiny lead me?
In the brink of suffering and strife,
I realise I am powerless against nature-
Only heaven can bless me with the breath of life.
Where will the Wind of Destiny lead me?
In the chaos, I made a personal prayer
And felt my soul submit to a serene state
As I ask the Lord to decide my fate-
Where will the Wind of Destiny lead me?
For the first time in my vulnerable state-
I felt the love of the Lord embrace my spirit
And all the fears and doubts dissipate –
Where will the Wind of Destiny lead me?
I realise life should move in a motion
Where love tames the wild weather of life
And relinquish all dark emotions-
So the force of the Wind of Destiny can awake!
With this new knowledge,
My spirit renews with vibrant vigour
As the truth of life finally been acknowledge
The force of the Wind of Destiny has awaken!
The sun wakes up from her sleep
The waves gently rocks the sail boat
The cloud calms down from her weep.
The force of the Wind of Destiny has awaken!
I feel my spirit soar
Like seagulls roaming across the sky
For I finally tasted the joy of God’s grace.
The force of the Wind of Destiny has awaken!
What lands shall be discovered?
I do not know what tomorrow will behold
Only courage and determination it will be uncovered
The force of the Wind of Destiny has awaken!
Staring sentimentally at the Sunrise
I feel the fiery breaths of the wind
Blowing my sail boat across the vast ocean.
Where will the Wind of Destiny lead me?
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
3 AM and the famed
“World’s Best Coffee”
Isn’t doing the trick.
Dawn at diners
Is where the lonely
Gather for company
‘Cause we’re tired of
Laying alone on a bed
Too big for one
Too small for our thoughts
Too much of a reminder.
[Your imprint still fresh,
An outline to the right side of my pillowcase,
And some nights,
When I’m consumed by thoughts of you,
I’ll crawl into the depression,
And let the space engulf me,
Until I remember that,
Just ‘cause you laid on the right side,
Didn’t mean you were always right,
And a strange metaphorical hope
Bubbles out of me,
When I remember that
Hearts tilt to the left,
But, when you left,
It was quite heartless.]
We prefer indistinct strangers
Who we secretly hope
Have stranger problems
That maybe they’ll share
To make ours seem more bearable
But, more often than not,
We sit in a shared silence
Fatigued, insomniac, alone together,
The (lonely) only chatter with the night shift waitress.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 6:09 PM UTC
4 Years, 1500 days, 3600 hours, 2,160,000 minutes, 129,600,000 seconds
Yemen with a devastating war
Yemen crushed by Saudi war criminals
Yemen wounded by US' immorality
Yemen killed by too many's frigid hearts
Yemen unbelievably destroyed
4 Years, 1500 days, 3600 hours, 2,160,000 minutes, 129,600,000 seconds
Yemen a skeleton
Yemen with its sustainable resources confiscated
Yemen its country's wealth no more
Yemen with blood everywhere
4 Years, 1500 days, 3600 hours, 2,160,000 minutes, 129,600,000 seconds
Yemen with 20 Million affected
Yemen with babies deceased
Yemen with young orphaned
Yemen with old without shelter
Yemen with men buried under sand
Yemen with women *****
Yemen with countless widowed
Yemen trapped under rebel with people screaming for help
4 Years, 1500 days, 3600 hours, 2,160,000 minutes, 129,600,000 seconds
Yemen in shock
Yemen weary
Yemen with its hands up high in the air pleading for an end
Are our hands up with them
Are our foreheads wet
Are our eyes full
Are our mouths dry
Are our fingers in motion
Are our legs fatigued
Are our brains thinking
YEMEN: 4 Years Starving, 4 Years Dying, 4 Years Bleeding, 4 Years Grieving, 4 Years Hurting, 4 Years Too Long Not With Our Oppressed, 4 Years Too Late We Must Begin
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 1:27 AM UTC
This thought seems to be reoccurring.
Like that stranger you see in the halls everyday,
Yet you don't know their name
Or even a fragment of their story.
This thought has that exact feeling,
But contains a bit more of a sting when it passes
Through my fatigued head.
This thought is of the fairytales
All forged in my 3am mindset.
A mindset that often strikes me at times
Very distant from 3am.
These fairytales are perfect in every way.
But, as all things do they have a fatal flaw.
They will remain as fairytales.
Stuck in the depths of my mind that will remain
Locked up like the restricted section of a library.
Living a thousand lives just as the characters
In fantasy books do.
Straining to brake the chains and locks
That keep it restricted from the outside world.
Sadly, I am the only one trying to break these chains.
Others say they want to,
But fail to show up during this distant time
Of 3am.
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 11:23 PM UTC
Lungs filled up
with
questions questions questions.
Like in the pool as a child,
How long can you hold your breath?
Held under,
Burning pushing screaming
You've got to hold your breath.
The fraction left not choked out
by the uncertainties of the future
is weak, fatigued, and plagued by
doubt.
Minuscule trivialities become juggernauts
crushing the remains of structure.
When will I reach the surface?
What do I have left?
When can I breathe again?
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 9:04 PM UTC
What life once was
Is life no more
Sadness came calling at the door
A story told
A tragic tale
One that leaves you fatigued and pale
Once a social butterfly
Wings now broken and torn
Torn pieces carried away on the wind
With every piece gone you mourn
At what cost
A true love lost
Leaves ones heart
shattered and bleeding
So many emotions
you can't control
has got your head reeling
Close your eyes
make a wish
for this life to have a happy ending
But this one wish
will dissolve like mist
For the loss and grief are still pending
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 2:07 PM UTC
Are you fatigued?
Do you have irritable bowel syndrome?
Are there irreconcilable differences in your life?
Are you Homophobic...
"I climb 1,576 stairs"
"But I have a lot of gay friends"
once we've reached the top,
there are no two quarters for the lens.
What's driving us, this feeling, this wander?
Could you imagine,
If kind was ****** compassion.
Could you imagine,
If kind has no reaction.
What a day, what a day, what a day, what a day;
it will be.
Like children lost in corn mazes.......
filled with glee.
Hollow are those shallow times,
don't you
forget
about me.
What a day, what a day, what a day, what a day;
it will be.
Luckily those prickly vines, are fading fantastically.
_TRF
sometimebforehalloween_
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 11:09 PM UTC
The Quantum Poetry Theorem
from a long time ago,
a thousand poems a priori.
**Dedicated to you, Albert Einstein and the cast of TBBT, special thanks to the OWS movement.,
But especially to the few, the brave, geeks who write poetry in word and in equations.**
Scruffy, yet ennobled,
my own 99% invade and
occupy all my senses,
in my eyesight encamped
sensing opportunity,
the 99 demand
that each shutter eye snap,
all nominal exhalations,
every quantum minutia perception,
be live streamed,
direct tv to you
Everything I witness,
transformed into an
acoustic guitar rocking vision,
a levitation of poetic expression,
set to a primitive three-chord
rock & roll overture,
and my iPad,
appointed Recording Secretary,
compiles exhalations as ecrivations
a preservation society of the verb,
strings of words emanating non-stop
within my head, from a guitar playing
twenty four seven, ironically,
expressed mathematically
Street strolling,
busy brasserie bar,
a Pinot Noir arrives,
a large pour of
stanzas and a
napkin upon to scribble
mind in ferment but
A Capella smooth cool,
my bossy brain requires
incident reports,
a "write me down, please,"
and
no matter how much I drink,
ain't anti-matter enough to
stop my eyes from seeing
every human interaction
as a poetic, probabilistic,
verbal equation,
quantum expressions of sensory upload
The brain revels and reels from overload,
no mas, no more,
poetry fatigue incurable,
caplets and ointments,
string theory,
can't cure or explain
the compulsion I feel,
and the 1% of me
protests my
overtaxed mental capacity,
and
hear the, see the, masses,
the shouts, the placards,
outside my home,
shut it down, no one cares,
no one wants your transplanted mechanics
in their eardrums
Huzzah, found in my gut,
a Grand Unifying Theory
to coordinate, gauge and harmonize
my internal asymmetries,
yes, a coupling factor required,
but still,
one equation that explains everything!
my fatigued, pointy, index finger
refuses to tap any more,
my Theory of Everything,
and my poetry, forgot, overlooked.
in my library buried,
black holed, forever silence-stored
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
Did it take us long to walk over to the broken people,
Letting our compassion change us for a while,
I have not become a saint with an act of kindness,
I am still looking for my oasis in this wasteland,
Everything else is a passing breeze.
The sorrow that filled them in those dark hours
Was my elixir, as I walked forward,
writing my testimonies in the lives I meet on my way.
I have felt grains of sand with my fingertips, my blood
is fatigued, in its course through my flesh,
My veins are distended, toughened, and yet,
They do not tear, and this limbo between
Pain and liberation is Peace within a calamity.
My soliloquy is a bare rasping breath of wind,
Coursing through the streets which led home once,
But are now the lanes of memory, stale in their impotence,
Stinging in their truth, that my existence left behind marks
in the water I bathed in, in the bed I slept in,
in the books I read, which I held,
in the bandages I bled, over the wounds I tried to heal.
On the flag I tried to save, I have wept, Longing
for this journey to end, so I may rest a while.
The diseased have suffered their sickness with stoicism.
I have tried to heal them, succeeded,
failed with a few,
and wondered in the power of Mortality.
My oasis lies in the peaks of the wasteland, I can see it now,
A haze, a sliver of sunlight in this dark wasteland,
Past this murky slush of relationships,
Beyond the cliffs of defeat, and past the rivers
Of Self-loathing criticism.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 11:21 AM UTC
my program is a lost signal
overweight styrofoam rubbing
muddled in hangover hair
choke back the over spill
language will clog the drain
bulky, fatigued under the awning
cruised to isle tempi passati
surfed a certain drift,
definite
your flexing dedication was
heat exhaled into a humbled room wearing a sweatshirt/sweat pant combo with the comforter pulled all the way up at 3 p.m. on a humid summer afternoon
sweltering
wandering mirage day trips
publicly a deaf runaway gnawing on a cactus wing
robbed of north and south
scouting for rocks half in moss
anxious I won't be home in time to see
my favorite show. doesn't need a
button to play, just some bad
luck and thunder drool
May 25, 2012
May 25, 2012 at 1:42 AM UTC
Redundancy.
I read my words
and I’m sickened,
that you had this
effect on me. I read
them and I’m fatigued
by the redundancy.
I have nothing to say
that hasn’t been said
in the same way
only reconstructed
to better play the illusion
of new ideas and
some sort of change.
There is always the basis
the substance of being
the substance being
my overactive feelings
and constant repression
of what makes me alive—
this feeds the depression
and I cry when I think
and I’m dead when I don’t
I’m lying when I speak
and lying when I don’t
I’m fighting every day
my feelings when I
have them, and finding
every day, I have more than
I can fathom, and I can’t
always put into words
how or why I feel things
so I tend to repeat
what comes naturally
and when I reread
I am exhausted by
my own redundancy.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
He knows not how the toner trails,
I know how my conduits drain themselves.
Forming a queue while spitting blood
They’re an anemic residue.
He knows not how to freshen my palate,
With warmth, I see no remedy
My so-fatigued heart,
I was a monochrome in plastic wares.
I wasn’t a prototype, but a derivative.
Seclusion I abhor, indeed my life too
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC