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I am the flightless pelican.
I’ve found myself with my mouth full,
my stomach full, and so much still on my plate.
Possessed by an inhuman hunger,
I will gorge upon pure potential.
I will yowl on and on, without sleep.
-
I have sand between my toes.
My shoes are glued to my feet.
Keep on running ‘til the calluses come.
There has to be a point where I stop to sweat,
and I’ll finally get my sigh of relief.
I have one ride left on my bus pass.
-
I have a tendency to ramble
and languish in my own stench.
People tend to forget this at first;
lured in by the false face of a genetic fluke.
They want to know the impression I left,
not the procrastinator; the cud-chewing goat.
-
I can’t sleep being held,
or if I feel someone’s breath in the still.
I start to feel the urge to burrow
into the quiet quilts; patchwork Promised Land.
I cater to the crowd that caters to themselves,
but I’m no Utilitarian. Fox and Lion.
-
I have cousins like brothers,
and I have brothers like strangers.
Stray cats with names
and a copy of The Mahabharata that I stash my money in.
I’m sitting on a sunny pier with my hook in the water;
avoiding conflict with no bait.  
-
Paper cuts from the gold leaf
on the edges of hymn book pages
with burgundy leather covers.
These guilty cuts, bleeding for what seems like hours,
while we steadily forget that anyone was singing.
Alone with our thoughts in the crowd.
Cliff Green Nov 2017
A large and ponderous, flightless bird
Was what I pictured of ‘ennui’
When first I read that warning word

In retrospect it’s less absurd
That self - created lethargy
Is like a ponderous, flightless bird

Boredom’s not a dream deferred                                
It is a state that you must flee
Be thankful for that warning word

One mustn’t let repose begird
Your ***** life, or else you’ll be
Much like a  ponderous, flightless bird

Get out, and farther, from the herd
And risk the dangers to be free
Go boldly and defy that word    

The choice is yours, you’ve no doubt heard
Part warning, yet therein a plea
To banish ponderous, flightless birds
Let action be  your favorite word
Mercury Chap Jun 2015
No matter how much you lift me
I would remain to be an ostrich
Even while having wings
I couldn't fly.
Sven Stears Aug 2013
His heart was kept in a babooshka-doll
that released memory smells
with every layer that eroded.
The wooden fences faded
to damp brick in the corner
of his head reserved for the harmonica
that played through the microphone
in his neck till the sound got lodged
in his maudlin march
that had him running like he
was angry at the road.
His Echostep
vibrating in
the kremlin skin
and marrionette heart strings
that kept him.... him.

Despite broken wings
he made the air around him dance
with the resonance of each
broken crystal ball shard used
to predict the past.
Each chime raised a mountain,
folding back on itself
hoping the hallucination would end,
till tired hands
batted away golden hawks.
With rocks for claws.

It was all the fights with the wind
that had the clouds leaving the moon's
Picaso skies,
and sailing towards him on warships of
rain and frozen effigies.
They arrived, astronauts
from outer space
burning from the lips
outwards revealing grey
intent and red mists.
He fought back with false start
epiphanies and the falsetto
prophecies that stung the air
with pitch raining down.
Leaving bare branches where once
green hands applauded
everything but empty air,
like listless typewriters furiously
trying to find their voices.

Feirce winds and fake faces
left blinking with closed eyes
in the vastness of battlefield.
Turning stomaches and
blank canvas whirlpools,
storms of anti-peace
scarring the last conquests
of the flightless ape lizard,
and all his gorilla warfare.
Seán Mac Falls May 2014
Peacocks on HP  .  .  .
Are not birds, yet dinosaurs,
Wingless beneath earth.
Carsyn Smith Mar 2015
I was a quick-wit boy
Diving too deep for coins
All of your street light eyes
Wide on my plastic toys.
Then when the cops closed the fair,
I cut my long baby hair;
Stole me a dog-eared map
And called for you everywhere.

Have I found you?
Flightless bird, jealous, weeping
Or lost you?
American mouth
Big pill looming

Now I'm a fat house cat
Nursing my sore blunt tongue.
Watching the warm poison rats
Curl through the wide fence cracks,
******* on magazine photos
Those fishing lures thrown in the cold and clean
Blood of Christ mountain stream.

Have I found you?
Flightless bird, grounded, bleeding
Or lost you?
American mouth
Big pill, stuck going down
I woke up this morning singing this song and can't get it out of my head. It's been years since I've listened to it, and now that I've read and understand the lyrics, it's perfect.
Makenzee Oct 2017
rekindling lost love is like teaching a flightless bird to fly.
the wings are wounded as are we,
but we still try to reach the sky.
we have dreams of what we could be,
even if they are impractical.
love equates to delirium,
and I don't wish to see reality anymore.
Ahmed Usman May 2014
Flightless Birds
so it would seem
we paint memories
yet fear to dream
While if you try
you may not prevail
if you do not
you’ll always fail
So for one moment
put your brush away
smile and dare
to dream today
Joe Workman Aug 2014
The radio alarm is a bit too strong
for his afternoon hangover taste.
He goes downstairs, sets the coffee to brewing,
rubs his hands through the hair on his face.
As he sits and he smokes, he can't quite think of the joke
she once told him about wooden eyes.

The coffee is ready, his hands are unsteady
as he pours his first cup of cure.
He tries to be happy he woke up today,
but whether being awake's good, he's not sure.
Outside it's raining, but he's gallantly straining
to keep his head and his spirits held high.

As soft as the flower bending out in its shower,
fiercer than hornets defending their hives,
the memories of sharing her secrets and sheets
run him through like sharp rusty knives.
He decides that his cup isn't quite strong enough,
takes the ***** from the shelf, gives a sigh.

He goes to the porch to put words to the torch
he still carries and knows whiskey just fuels.
Thunder puts a voice to his hammering heart.
Through ink, his knotted mind unspools,
writing of butterflies and of how his love lies
cocooned under unreachable skies.

From teardrops to streams to winter moonbeams
to a peach, firm and sweet, in the spring,
he writes of pilgrims and language and soft dew-damp grass
and how he sees her in everything.
He rambles and grieves, and he just can't believe
how much he has bottled inside.

He writes how the leaves, when they whisper in the breeze,
bring to mind her warm breath in his mouth,
how when walking through woods he loves the birdsong
when they fly back in the summer from the south
because she would sing too and he always knew
he wanted that sound in his ears when he died.

He writes even the streetlights, fluorescent and bright,
make him miss the diamond chips in her eyes,
how the fountain in the park plays watersongs in the dark
when he goes to make wishes on pennies
and while he's there he gets hoping
there will be some spare wishes
but so far there haven't been any.

He writes that the cold makes him think of the old
hotel where they spent most of a week,
lazing and gazing quite lovingly,
and how he brushed an eyelash off her cheek.
The crickets and frogs and all of the dogs
sound as mournful as he feels each night.

He writes about chocolate and fun in arcades,
he writes about stairwells and butchers' blades,
and closed-casket funerals, and Christmas parades,
then sad flightless birds and tiny brigades
of ants taking crumbs from the toast he had made,
and political goons with their soulless tirades,
old-timey duels and terrible grades,
strangers on  buses, harp music, maids,
the weird afterimages when all the light fades,
the pleasure of dinnertime serenades,
sidewalk chalk, wine, and hand grenades.

He writes of how much fun it would be to fly,
and saltwater taffy and ferryboat rides,

sitting on couches, scratched CD's
pets gone too soon and overdraft fees,

the beach, the lake, the mountains, the fog,
David Bowie's funny, ill-smelling bog,

jewelry, perfume, sushi, and swans,
the smell of the pavement when the rain's come and gone,

and shots and opera, and Oprah and ***,
and tiny bikinis with yellow dots,

stained glass lamps, and gum and stamps,
her dancing shoes on wheelchair ramps,
that overstrange feeling of déjà vu,
filet mignon and cordon bleu,

bad haircuts at county fairs,
honey and clover, stockmarket shares,
the comfort of nestling in overstuffed chairs,
and her poking fun at the clothes that he wears,
and giraffes and hippos and polar bears,
cumbersome car consoles, monsters' lairs,
singing in public and ignoring the stares,
botching it badly while making éclairs,
misspelled tattoos, socks not in pairs,
people who take something that isn't theirs,
the future of man, and man's future cares,

why people so frequently lie
and bury themselves so deep in the mire
of monetary profits when money won't buy
a single next second because time's not for hire,
and that he sees her in everything.

Then unexpectedly, unbidden from where it was hidden
comes the punchline to the joke she had told him.
He laughs -- it's too much and his heart finally tears
as a blackness rolls in to enfold him.
The last thing he hears is birdsong in his ears --
the sound brings hope and is sweet as he dies.
Benjamin Davies Nov 2010
De-winged and flightless
         is the dragonfly
              that tried to slip by
                       in my slipstream,
It found instead the pickup
          traversing the alleyways
               of my convoluted imagination.
I don’t know why I’m driving,
          ever driving someplace
                unrealized and unexplored.
I feel so disconnected,
I feel so disrespected by the world
                sometimes
But that’s not fair
           it has been good to me.
I feel so disconnected
        sometimes
and yet it comes in times
           when I’m most consumed
                most surrounded.
Maybe I’m just tired
        and the walls around me quiver only
from the struggles of my waking eyes,
Maybe I’m just bitter
        that I can’t have the perfect life
                 and feel as if nothing could be better,
Maybe I’m affected
        by this liquid life I’m draining from my cup
                 in hopes of finding a different day
                                            at the bottom.
Is it jealousy that lingers in my mind
        or mere longing tinged with a heavy
                 dose of confusion?
I am confused.
And yet I’m still alive
        unlike my dragonfly
                  and so I stumble onward.

-*BRD
Copyright 2010 by Ben Davies
Keith Jenkins Sep 2011
I prostrate myself before thee
With a sheepish plea, to no longer be,
Because I swear to you, I’ll never foresee.
So you smile and you laugh and you cast a man back
Find love in all you see? Empty words!
You never spoke to me.
This ground, it trembles
With fury it quakes
And how the knees do fall to curse this fate.
You’re the face of the faceless
The crux of all matters
The infinity of wisdom
Yet all you’ve ever given
Are the gusts of wind,
From flightless wings.
You don’t stir or shift,
Your distance? It’s a gift.
Your tongues of flame shall here find no domain.
Still you’re still
It’s so hard to breathe
I can’t take a step in this hate you’ve given me.
Now and forever all there shall be,
For you it’s my back, it all you’ll ever see
Payment in kind, need I remind?
But with a nerve that astounds, you turn me around.
Coward you scream, and coward again
Thunder roaring with your violent retort
Worthless peon lost in your wordless poems,
Oh, fate and fairness have never been so close
Rightfully, they’ll coalesce in your ghost.
Furnished with nothing I throw not but rage
You smile and withdraw from within this cage
Adamantine its walls, the door swings closed
My whys and my how’s are all I have left,
You take both with one last quip.
You deserve it.
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2015
Peacocks on HP  .  .  .
Are not birds, yet dinosaurs,
Wingless beneath earth.
Why do you hurt yourself so
But reject help when people see
I hate seeing you filled with the poison of woe
Living off of depression and greif
The sweetest berry
Turns into a vile repulsive treat
A dream granted by a fairy
Something you'll never get to see
The night with out the moon
The day with out the clouds
A mind with no soul
A voice with no sound
Your eyes in the night
Shined like the sun in the day
But the rays are gone
150 miles away
Why, my flightless bird
Do you want to cause me pain
Do you even care if I hurt
Sit and cry in the rain
Do you feel empathy
A morsel of guilt
Doesn't it make you feel empty
Flightless bird
jennee Oct 2015
Drain me out

I am a flightless bird soaked in deep water
Hindered by the heaviness of my feathers
Constantly weighing down my flock
I am not my own burden
But a bag of rocks thrown into the ocean
A corpse to never be found
When meant to catch the eyes of the innocent
My body refuses to stay afloat
My mind is living under
And I have no choice but to hit rock bottom

So hear me out

Carry my withering bones and feathers
When my body decides to give out
I cannot keep living under water
I am not meant for this environment
My skin is meant to feed the clouds of freedom
Tracing linear passages and unsteady travels,
With my own people
We are meant to soar into oblivion
Of building dreams and vision
But my mind keeps living under
And I cannot escape what has harvested inside
I have no choice but to hit rock bottom

n.j.
https://perennialink.wordpress.com/2015/10/22/flightless-2/
Jr Feb 2014
in the madness that follows broken swallows
flightless birds whose wings are broken, a token
of this worlds cruelty, some likening to a novelty
a pass time of society gaining popularity not notoriety
flightless birds whose dreams no longer pure, one deems
a twisted distortion upon the frail who seek to prevail
an existence within decaying trees, a stench to rob the free
flightless birds whose song fades, for today is made
in the notion that a path is set, for those who lost a nest
and can no longer return home, death a persistent norm

out of depth they are, for flightless they became
out of one world and into another, all the same
...
Kenneth Springer Mar 2013
What I am means not the who,
For who I am transcends the what in that the I,
Ohh the I,
Means a lot of nothing..
For what is confidence without ambition?
Pride lacking reason,
a combination of halves ignorant of the whole
Blind whales swimming in circles
An endless abyss of the seventh sea
The playing field of unfamiliarity

For whom does a flightless bird share secrets with?
A used gum, hardened and black
The unfiltered truth of my being..
spaceghost Apr 2015
I wish they clipped
the wings off Icarus's back
before he took flight.

It would have been easier that way.

He could have stayed flightless,
some sort of meatsack
with little wax stumps
growing out of his back,
not unlike those of trees.

The story of Icarus
was not made to scare us
away from flying
too close to the sun.

The story of Icarus
was made to scare us
from flying at all.
At least he tasted freedom before falling.
Jeuden Totanes Jan 2015
my wings are creased and crumpled
they are dull and pale and weak
a pair of lifeless curtains
void of colors that you seek

they never flap nor flutter
they cease to make me fly
they've lost their silver luster
i can't remember why...
Nicole Dawn Dec 2015
Welcome to the Suicide Forest
Where the butterflies flutter low
Weak with dull dark colors
And fall with broken wings

Where the trees are dead and dying
And the leaves are dull and falling


Have you seen the Suicide Forest?
Where the night is heavy and dark
And the sunlight rarely shines

Where blue fairies stumble flightless
With tear-stained cheeks
And bloodstained wrists


Run, run, run away
Quick, before you're trapped
Cause once the forest has you
You're never going back

Look into my eyes                                
You'll see they're empty; black
Look close at my wrists                        
You'll see they're stained blood red
Look into my soul                                  
You'll see it's gone; deserted

The suicide forest caught me
Now I'm forever trapped
I was considering entering a poetry contest. Idk though because I'm not really a poet. What do you guys think?
Willow-Anne Jul 2013
Once there was a little bird
As happy as could be
It soared up in the sky all day
Joyful and carefree

The little bird loved to fly
Till someone broke its wing
It was okay living on the ground
But the thought caused quite a sting

That bird had beautiful feathers too
Till someone plucked them out
With nothing to protect itself
The bird was full of doubt

So the bird built itself a nest
Till someone else made it their own
With no room left for the little bird
It went off all alone

The little bird used to love to sing
But somehow it lost its song
It knew it still had a voice inside
But everything felt wrong

Once there was a little bird
With nothing left at all
All alone, stuck on the ground
The bird just felt....so small
oh-the-oddities Mar 2015
one who wished to fly,
     a man of great metaphors
     whom we'll surely miss.
mentor he became,
     taught us many ways of life
     before he took flight.
To our greatest teac-- wait no, to our greatest friend!! its time to fly!
Marigold Jun 2013
I once saw a Maori woman standing in the rain,
She watched me as i walked by
And smiled a little in her silence.
She has stayed with me since that day,
Follows me still
Smiling and silent
Moko carved on her chin
And greenstone hanging round her neck
Perfectly smooth
as i imagine her skin once was.
She wears a cloak on her back,
Decorated with the feathers
of slow and flightless birds,
It has no hood to protect from weather
The rain freckles her face.
She is worried,
Constantly worried,
Yet she never spoke a word,
Until one day at the beach
I lifted a shell to my ear
And from within her voice spoke to me
Saying
You do not own nature,
the Earth owns you.
She smiled and walked away.
Alan Brown Apr 2016
In the midst of a waning Thursday afternoon,
I observed the outdoors from my cozy nook.
Birds serenaded each other from the treetops,
Flapping theirs wings,
Playing in the cordial breeze.
A handsome red robin took center stage,
Usurping the cynosure of the garden.
Gracefully, he sauntered to the edge of an evergreen limb,
Released an emphatic chirp, and slid into the sky,
Becoming airborne.
Free.

Meanwhile, I gazed at the clouds lethargically.
I was anchored to the land,
Indentured to books and worksheets.
I wished that I too could flap my wings,
Be hoisted into the air by the breeze,
And venture into the clouds.
But this I did not endeavor.

Unknowingly, I contracted my horizons,
Preoccupied by the useless facts and figures,
I was oblivious to the world outside of my abode.
While others lived their lives and spread their wings,
I fell behind.
They found joy in clouds, while I,
A flightless emu,
Buried my head in the sand.
JJ Sonders Mar 2013
if you told a baby bird
he couldn't fly
he'd walk around
and wonder why
left foot right foot
left foot right
a flightless bird
envys a kite
to let the world
determine fate
is wearing the nose ring
that bulls seem to hate
Lucky Santos Oct 2013
So, dope  young fellow
With your pretty boy swag.
With your SnapBack on.
Pants so **** low.
Every girl just waiting in line just to give you a blow.
You're royalty around here, but this is still high school.
Taking every girls cherries and jewels.
You think that you're raising the bar but I've seen this before:
Call it VCR.

And then there's me:
Who don't get no ladies.
Because I'm the type of person who actually treats females as actually human beings.
Not toys.
I'll put them before myself.
I care about their joy.
You know what's dead: chivalry.
And it can never be reborn.
Not like Call of Duty: zombies.
Boom, headshot.
But there's another ten coming your way.
Then it gets to the point when you're just blown away.
But I'll be your player 2.
Girl, I'd give up all my perks just for you.

So you guys out there with the pretty boy swag.
Who just zip it all up cuz they think they got  it in the bag.
I'm going to fight.
I'm going to step up for the voices not heard.
Cuz you've drowned them in depression, you've choke them with cruelty, and you've slapped them with sadness.
Unable to act.
Like a flightless bird.
I'll let them out of their cages so they can fly once again.
So you can't weight them down:
Call you Anchormen. Ooo, **** em'

So, pretty boy, nothing close to fantastic.
I just wanna say:
That I know  I'm swagtastic.
S- saving
W- women
A- against
G- guys
T- that
A- abuse
S- sensitive
T- tender
I- innocent
C- companions.

Shorten that: swag.
S- she
W- wants
A- a
G- gentlemen.

So now boy,
Lets just see which one of us got that "Pretty Boy Swag"
Overall what I want to say is that chivalry is dying...
Sa May 2015
A daring, caring angel
tried walking on land
wanted to spread love
but got stripped of her feathers
by just humans
now
she stares through an hourglass,
waiting to become mortal,
at falling grains of sand.
Amber Dawn Oct 2013
Told you to leave, our lovely lord of home,
Unable to bask in your audacious pride;
You dimmed my wretched goddess—one who bore weeping life
Religion worthy, as though it was your strained role,
So let’s create a cult; a sculpted path to follow-
And our naïve leader we told you to fly
Your impressionable look at us: wry,
Partnered insanity, commendable.

My lord of home is naïve, lovely, insane,
Seed of tainted bloom; you brought painful life,
And you have sorely attempted love, the still
Blistering heat of cigarette on skin
Yet I asked you to leave without sigh,
My murderous savior of swaying self.
Madison Aug 2018
He fell from heavens high

Back down to this miserable Earth

All in the interest of loving me.

He was a guardian

So pure of soul

But all I saw

Were his wings.

He promised to protect me

And kept his word

Treating me better than anyone had

In a very long time.

He lived a second time just for me

Always there to rescue his favorite broken soul.

He was the one

To drag me out of dark alleys

Take the bottle from my hands

Tell me who not to call back

Place a hand on my heart

Just when I thought I couldn't feel anything good anymore.

He danced with me to my favorite records

Taught me how to laugh again

Sang me to sleep

Offered the gentlest kiss

Without asking for anything more.

He pried me open

To see into my soul.

I found true desire

In staring at his wings.

As the days passed

Disenchantment crept back in.

Finally, I asked him

What it was like to fly.

He smiled at me

So beautifully otherworldly

And told me that

As long as I was there with him

He wouldn't dream of doing it again.

It was then that I asked him the million dollar question:

"If you don't want to fly again

Would you mind giving just one of your feathers to me?"

He stayed silent for a while

Considering

Before he reached out

And tore a single sparkling plume

From one lovely white wing.

He dropped it into my outstretched palm

Before meeting my gaze

With watering eyes.

"My love," he said.

"Never doubt that I am yours."

For a while

That one feather was all that I needed.

Alas, like all things

The passing of days

Dulled its shine.

A few nights later

I asked my angel for another

Sure he wouldn't mind.

"Please," I begged.

"Just one more."

He hesitated for only a moment

Before plucking out another.

With a smile

I took it from him

To join the previous one.

There was a sick thrill

In seeing them side-by-side

One for him

One for me.

Of course

Two wasn't good enough for long.

I plead to him on one of my hopeless nights

Dropping to my knees

Choking on tears.

"Please," I said once more.

"If you really love me, do this for me. Give me more of you."

His own eyes glistening

He ripped out a handful of glittering ivory

Shoving them into my hands.

I barely even heard his groan of agony

Over my own cries of anguish.

As my collection of feathers grew

Along with my longing for more

I hardly noticed my angel grow gaunt

Glowing skin going dull gray

Radiant smile fading away

Retreating into himself

As I stripped him

Of the badge that stated his purpose.

He gave and gave

And I took and took

Never offering anything back

Never worrying

Figuring that this --

Making me happy --

Was his job.

Not once did it occur to me

That every small sacrifice caused him so much pain

That I had changed him from a guardian angel

To a caged, flightless bird.

So I never pressed him.

Besides

How do you ask someone

If they're tearing themselves apart

To give you a piece of them?

I didn't expect it

When my angel fell into my arms

The light already leaving his beautiful eyes.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"But I have to go now.

Please take care of yourself when I'm gone.

And, when you look at the feathers

Think of me."

The least I could do

Was hold him

As he faded away.

Now, I walk this miserable world alone

Two angel feathers

Hanging from my neck.

I stay away from dark alleys

Seek solace in the bottle

Screen every call

Clutch a hand to my chest

Wishing my heart would freeze back over.

I've put away the records I once loved

Muted my laugh

Let every tear dry on its own

Stay up all night

Blaming myself

Vowing to never let anyone kiss these selfish lips again.

Now, I fall to my knees

Pleading with the heavens

To let him come back to me

Save me again

Reclaim the things I took from him.

Oh, angel

Please don't do this for your next girl.
Tea May 2014
A bird in the nest is
safe
warm
protected
but how will it fly?
If you're in the same place forever, you will never get hurt. But you will also never grow.
Christmas.... ugh
Isn't this a perplexing situation?
I have an interesting question...
First, I know this poem is not perfection
But does any one know what it's like
To be utterly alone on what's supposed to be
A most joyous day, surrounded by friends and family?
That annoying cherubic man
Won't be visiting my home
It's just an idiotic holiday
And no one cares I'll be alone
No homemade Christmas dinner
I might make myself a grade A steak
I'll raise a toast to myself
Nothing to boast about
Probably just whiskey, bottom shelf
I immense-ly hate Christmas
Say I'm dense-ly, I don't care
Been that way as long as I can remember
From the makeshift tree, when I was three
To being stuck homeless in a snow drift at sixteen
I can count all the "merry Christmas's" I've received
On one hand
It's never been merry, or happy
Most I got was engorged on stuffing
And a poorly cooked, dried out Turkey
No presents under the tree
With a gift tag saying Melanie


You know what? Sorry Quin,
but this is too **** depressing...
I quit...

Tequila, Velveeta
Distant, instant
Solemn, Gollum
Under-wear, I don't care
Tiny, finely
Flightless, loneliness
Hindrance, appliance
Backward, forward
Orange, purge
Rooftop, please stop
Kringle, Pringles

Ha! Invitations?
No...
Salutations...
Yea... I hate Christmas.
Liisi Kilpelä Jun 2013
Stimulant affliction,
I purged my addiction,
Of soft-shell bombs under
Transparent levers—

And,
Ruffling my
Feathers,

I hold the command
In the pit of my palm,
The white granular
Ovals an intercellular
Psalm,

Chanting along
Nervous train tracks,
The synapses humming
In unison—

Be happy
Be happy
Be happy.
D L Smith Aug 2016
I write these words from boredom.

Where they lead to I know not.

All I know, is that I write from boredom.

Boredom creeps upon me, like a stealthy foe within the night. My interests can be peaked then can go out like a light. Maybe with a bit of horror my boredom could be solved through some fright. Alas I know that to resolve my boredom I'll have to put up a fight.

To the boredom I say good day and try to be on my merry way. Boredom however has more to say upon this day in such a way that it molds me like wet gooey clay. Shaping and forming my mind for the evening, the boredom kicks in an my spirits start leaving.

Once thriving and passionate, once creative and fair. Now because of my boredom I lack the very will to care. To care about feelings, hopes and dreams. Like most of my cares, they simply fall through the seams.

Seams within my mind that bind me into one whole thing. A thing that has no will to continue with such a boring night. A flightless, hopeless, careless, and boredom filled night.

So sleep tight, because as of now it's all I have to escape my boredom. Once I crawl into bed my mind is at ease, but when I wake up I need something that will please. Anything, anything at all.

Whether it be down or up the stairs, in between some spider hair, along a glowing beam, even along a narrow stream.

A gray dull life is not one I desire, day by day I hope for something to light my fire. Boredom strikes when I least expect, I always wonder when it will hit next. I'm lucky when it leaves and pray that is does not return.

However when it does return I yearn for something to do. I Look for a clue for something to do, just as you likely read this from boredom too. So my dear reader I bid you farewell, from whence I came I shall return to my boring spell.
Boredom is a running series of poems that I have created out of, you guessed it. Boredom.
Bluebird Dec 2014
Her friends call her Nancy,
as long as it's not a name given by him..
He always called her Jeanny,
when he clipped away her wings.

He found Jeanny on the streat,
when she was just a child...
Nobody knew the painfull past
behind Jeannys broken smile.

He hurt Jeanny,and kept her locked,
never to get outside,
she made Jeanny beg for her life.
until he broke her mind.

Jeanny stabbed him 20 times,
then she cut away all off his limbs.
But late at night she still hears his voice,
"come Jeanny ,i need to cut your wings"
Tom McCone Apr 2013
The star exists.

The rain exists
to fall.

The tree exists
to breathe
and fall.

The bird exists
to breathe,
and sing amongst the trees,
and fall.

The beast exists
to breathe,
and sing amongst the trees;
to wander,
and fall.

The human exists
to breathe,
and sing amongst the trees;
to wander,
and whisper, under starlight,
to love,
in despair;
and, finally,
as all else does,
to fall.
mygreatestescape Feb 2018
systole, the eyes
that never saw,
the children who
made pillars out of
their tears,
building forts
out of fear
and pure wretchedness,
born in allleyways
and downgraded
to accidents,
eating from
the hand that
coloured their bodies
blue,
pure neglected art,
the beauty of their
red rimmed eyes
and yellowing
skin, like suns
that  grew from
their blackhole dreams,

who saw strangers on the
street
and when
their hands brushed
they called it -- "love",
who sobbed into
bedsheets
as tyrants
searched  for paradise
in the scars of
their misery,
their nightmares filled
with doctors who
would ask them
"where did they touch you"

Animals at a zoo,
a mere curiousity,
a mediocre pastime,
when they saw them
they thought of alcoholic fathers
-- a sub species of human,

they fell so far into the cracks
that they landed on earth
to experience our hell,
the versatile law
and our novelties,
the system raised a fist
and so did the fosters,
parental imposters,
and the child who deserved
the alters of Olympus
-- called it kindness,


their hearts suffered
in low ceiling rooms
and brick arched windows,
polished brass **** doors,
threaded traps of cobweb,
  A dose of sermons,
a memorial service the next,
children who dangled from ceilings,
suffocating on their self proclaimed
prophecies,
reptiles that grew in the skeletons of
their bodies,
suicidal for gold,
to be told
of flowers
and to be held
in the arms of a mother,
to be chased down
the streets like a flightless
canary,
while the earth drank
in their laughter,

kids that were once here
who breathed as if each
breath was thinning,

who became so small
that they disappeared.
One of my friends grew up in the foster system, its been painful seeing how much its changed her.
Yenson Aug 2018
Lost in the majority
hiding within the masses
seeking acceptance
afraid to be yourself

The bullies' 'democracy' claims another victim
the chains are for you
not your so-called prisoner
Not the one who dared call it as it is
Not the one unafraid to stick his head above the fence

What is a person if not their truths
Be it right or wrong, better die than a ******* sheep
The Dodo was wiped out because they were flightless
Couldn't escape the clutches of human
Was it their fault
Or the God who made them without wings
and also created man in charge of earth

Man is the highest being
who professes to know more than God
Do what they want and take what they like
We can, so we do
We'll just make it up as we go along
Its unlawful to **** but our Police can **** the Darkies
You do jail time for stealing a loaf
At the top they are stealing millions slashed in Offshore Accounts

Then some flatulences of deranged ******* ranges along
declaring we are Red Devils against the Privileged
See that man go make his life a misery
Don't befriend him, don't even talk to him
Come join our club cause we are the majority

The flatulence of ******* have just stolen your Free-Will
Pitting you against another who has done you no wrong
But it's alright because everyone is in with it
No it's not OK because they have just made you a slave
Played on your fears and made you feel inferior
Judged on your behalf without your consent
And manipulate you without your approval
Because they have fooled you
Made you think you're only strong in a pack
While tainting your mind with Hate
And stealing your free Will

Welcome to Cowardsville, Have a nice stay
Cause you're staying your lifetime
Real Democracy is seeking Common good for all by all
Not common destruction of another blameless Human
as sport to hang asinine trite banners on, to **** your mind in
That is not Power, its a scam by Cheats, thugs and hooligans
who also want a slice of the Top table pies and cherries,
without learning the rules of the game
What these shites call Power is hate and Bullying
And bullying is Wrong and cowardly
It could be YOU someday

You may not have much but at least own yourself
And own your mind
Make your own decision
Don't do because someone stole your free Will
Least of all a Flatulences of Red *******
Who banish Freedom while yelling Freedom For All
Who lies we are fighting for the common people
While their union Leaders earn same as the ******* PM
and live Rent free in mansions with fortunes in Banks

Is Putin equal to all the others he rules over
Is Trump giving up his Billions to make America great
Has Corbyn given a spare room to a Palestinian refugee
or donated half of his wages to the poor
Do you honestly believe Politicians tell you the TRUTH
Whether Red, Blue, Orange, Gold or ******* Rainbow

Then some Shyster Flatulences of Red Nincompoops steals
your Free will and sends you like dogs to go harass
and torment one single Man and calls it Revolution...hahaha

Go have a coffee and smell the Roses....people!
Jeremy Corbyn publishes tax return, revealing total income of £114,342

— The End —