"humorless" poems
“Oh you’re Irish?” he said.
“Did you learn the language much?” he said.
Honestly, what can I tell him? I was raised in the North - a ****** wasteland for such a naïve question.
Vague memories of fumbled classes where our secret history was ditched just to get straight into the basics (Cad é mar atá tú?)
No – seriously - I was not tied to it – it was anonymous to me at that age.
Forgotten like some distant echo of once visiting Coole House as a child.
Sure, we knew it was “important”, “our national language”, “heritage” etc. and we were warned it was quickly slipping into the drain of Western hegemony.
But it was baffling, unsexy and only the blunt-faced humorless IRA thugs amongst us were in any way keen.
Then it was gone, just like the faded memories of “The Children of Lir” from my primary school.
Looking back I wonder, what was the point?
A half-full measure paying lip service to our identity.
Teachers and headmasters terrified of the grand colonial reveal that the lessons might have hinted at (were they trying to stop us being Provos-in-waiting?).
And all of this against the awful shame of a common tongue that had no foe yet was slowly vanquishing from our shores.
It could have all been so different.
Rather than rushing to get something in our empty skulls, they could have given us a sense of joy, pride & belief in our own culture.
Calling on Yeats, Behan, Heaney and others to drown us in the language of our ancestors.
Telling the stories of old that only the academics & hippies were keeping from us then.
You know, it might kept us all on the same beautifully illuminated page.
We might have been comfortable in our skins and open to others,
not looking deep into our worthlessness and lashing out at them.
Language is being and language is connecting, I’ve learnt.
But that’s not something I got from my secondary school.
June-July 2018
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC
What moral magistrate
Monster of mediocrity
Makes a model citizen of me
Even if I don’t want to be
All upright and uptight
Humorless jackboot
Goose stepping toadstool
The fascist conservative fool
Who pedals misinformation
Counting on fear and stupidity
To turn strangers into tools
Yep that one eyed sheep
In the blind herd
Who wants to tell me
What I should or shouldn’t do
Why bother
With that proctor
Of indignity
Who counsels
The talented
To remain dormant
In their humility
Doctor of docility
Prescribing conformity
Storming the cities
Bleeding us of our individuality
To make more metal cogs
For the culture machine
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC
Humorless soul burning plunder
Of fraternity and success
By unnamed ,unseen blood and flesh
Escaping through unimaginable pits of hell
Not leaving a folklore,a story to tell.
A new decease spreading through mankind
From a single human body
Frightening name, shrieking mankind
Whenever this disease comes in contact with them.
Appropriately a plague
Running in tempt
Spreading to face
Something like vendetta ,something unsafe.
Entering into new age
Through the plague of dissatisfaction
Morose ,cruel,not leaving a fly unhurt
Being risen as group of beasts...
Dissatisfaction,a word which shouldn't exist
Flows now through the blood stream of every body
Leaving poison to spread
From toe to head
Keeping love in custody.
Why this plague of dissatisfaction?
Why an unturned page?
why this spread of cruelty?
Why not try but fail?
Unanswerable questions,i think these are for me...
I'll just sit and stare at the poem as the
Plague of dissatisfaction spreads till eternity.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 11:39 PM UTC
Arrival
Upon my arrival, I whisper-walked
Erasing my steps like a broom
I avoided bottlenecks and having my back to the door
Soft voices and sweet
Made me cringe
So did people who had no smell.
What was I, they wanted to know,
Such a delicate and precariously balanced thing,
Doing at the Crossroads?
Even the smallest and most inconsequential among us,
Could knock you apart
with a soft, experimental tap.
I’m sure that when they were children
They broke all their toys.
And I’m a living doll.
Perhaps I should, but I don’t want
To creak open the hinges of their faces.
There are things worse than skulls and brains.
Such as humorless laughter.
Indifference. Intentions.
And voids.
What you must realize,
What you need to comprehend.
Is that.
At times like this,
A girl would give anything
To be ugly.
Nov 10, 2016
Nov 10, 2016 at 2:43 PM UTC
The curtain opens, and I am lit alone.
Chagrin is my monologue.
On opera balconies, giggling wraiths shield themselves from my humorless improvisation.
Served on a platter, I am on stage, eyes squeezing out precious salt, holding my hands over my red-tipped ears as they still roast from the taunts of my imagination's cruel gossips, who sit, deliberately carving into my breast, intending to cut out my breath. Jabbering, with ***** claws clasping at tarnished silverware.
I stammer and my throat begins to hang itself with a velvet string and cat-gut noose.
I sweat, clothed by the filth of makeup, menstrual blood, and leftover food stains. Palms held up, dramatically surrendering on the condition that mercy be extended, for they have seen my miserable condition and that it is me. The cloying stench of uncertainty and greasy hair envelops me.
I cannot kneel, for the coals on which I stand,
make me suffer more from the pressure.
No water in my heels to soothe this felon.
I cannot provoke or endure, my performance is to be left early. Hume would not grant me fame.
If you have a heart, do not waste ink or time or money on me. I am a clot of blood, clogged in the sink. I will die in a ***** bed and no one will care, not even myself.
I just wish it will be swift and fleeting if it is painful.
Hoping harder, I am not remembered as a miserable girl, the way I am.
So, sing violins, and let me swing for the cannibals.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
people -- blue jeans -- t-shirts -- volleyball -- sparklers -- *** its -- stone bridge -- pine trees -- new trees -- old trees -- fireworks -- grass -- sonic boom -- picnic chairs -- bicycles -- oak trees -- bare neck -- tickles -- sneezing -- bless you -- slight chill -- cloud cover -- police cars -- policemen -- uniforms -- night sticks -- sweat pants -- baby strollers -- skull & crossbones -- muscle shirt -- sweat shirt -- baseball caps -- fountains of sparks -- greenery -- dandelions -- yellow weeds -- wafting smoke -- black man in white shirt -- white man in black shirt -- SUV -- Boxer dog -- red wagon -- smoke stacks -- asian couple -- running shorts -- acrid smoke -- ice cream truck -- double trees -- pony tail -- mosquitos -- fishing hat -- yellow truck -- handlebar mustache -- bad *** attitude -- shaved head -- balloon -- barbeque -- sunset -- affro -- tennis shoes -- multi-colored hair -- canoe -- golden purse -- playing band -- American flag -- folding chair -- name badge -- red, white, & blue -- skipping rocks -- cargo shorts -- matching couple -- bike path -- hippie hair -- low rider -- peace sign -- golden chains -- waning moon -- waxed legs -- hoodies -- striped shirt -- victory dance -- short shorts -- cigar smoke -- watermelon -- Viking's bag -- leopard skin jacket -- skooter -- digital camera -- creepy stalker dude -- tent building -- horeshoes -- personal space invaders -- glow sticks -- picnic basket -- cooler -- smoke bombs -- plaid skirt -- 77 sweats -- interracial couples -- motorcycle -- orange vest -- plastic ball -- face paint -- cops in two different uniforms -- split tree -- pregnant lady -- trash talking horeshoe player -- street lamps -- playing tag -- large blue cooler -- bright green pants -- humorless boy
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC
My gleaming white constellation class Starship
(My ***** white Chrysler K car)
was out on patrol near the neutral zone
(I was driving back home from the bar)
It was then I received a distress call
(I urgently needed to ***
Some Klingons decloaked in proximity
(I sped past a cop car or three)
I called for more speed from the engine room!
(My transmission started to shake)
Klingons pursued in the neutral zone
(They motioned to me HIT THE BRAKE!)
“What seems to be the Tribble, Officer?”
I said to the humorless Gorn.
That Klingon impounded my vehicle
(They caught me exceeding Warp Nine)
If Kirk faced this “no Win” situation
He’d probably get off with a fine.
Dam Klingons!
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 8:52 PM UTC
Thinking when I'm not speaking
Dreaming when I'm not sleeping
Holding my tongue
But internally i'm screaming
Its a wonder all these things that I'm feeling
Don't make me force my own bleeding
Or stop me from breathing
It seems they live within my skin
Internalized karma killers
They say the good die young
Well the old are our pillars
So where does that leave us?
Snorting coke of the same mantle
From which we worship Jesus
Castles made of sand
Are the realty of the land
In between the paint and plaster
Huddle humorless laughter castors
And in between the organic plastic
Is where my hope lies
So long as they stay focused
Keep their mind clear and open
But who knows when
Change will come about
Like a siren to the deaf
It's silent when it shouts
The thoughtless opinion population
Sleep in the mire they were raised in
Like cave men
Not daring to walk the paths less taken
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 8:04 PM UTC
The chime of the doorbell rings.
The music pumps inside.
B.Y.O.B on the minds of the young, not so innocent.
There's not a sober being in the place.
Slurred shouting in the air;
booming laughter grabs attention.
Spilled Budweiser pools
in **** carpet and across acid wash jeans.
Burnt popcorn faces rejection.
The outside air smells of drugs,
useless banter and humorless jokes.
The smoke from the bonfire and filtered cigarettes
rises in plumes and hangs in a cloud
above the drugged out faces
after the Friday night football game.
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 5:13 PM UTC
Skinny is not synonymous with confident. Nor is funny synonymous with happy. But if you weigh 110 pounds, and make people laugh they will ignore your tear stained cheeks. They will overlook the limpness of your movements.
You could fall dead without having been known by anyone. They will peer at your corpse and claim to have known you. They may even cry.
Had I been fat and humorless they would have known me.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 7:06 PM UTC
Warmth is fleeting, so they say about cold goosebumps too
It will envelop you; lull you into a false sense of security
And the moment you close your eyes,
All you will have be left to hold, will be a hasty abandon
Your arms will reach out to hold on the last vestiges
Of your fortress, but all the tips of your fingers will taste will be
Dry, thin, humorless air; and you will open your eyes, a sigh
Will escape your lips as you look at the desert, left behind by your kingdom
Falling to your knees, you will lament
Your words, lost in translation, will be carried
By the wind, like a sand dune, to a place where you cannot reach
Because your legs will refuse to walk, to run
But as you prepare to accept your fate
And embrace the cold, winter air
You close your eyes like a child, in his mother’s care
You feel a blast of heat engulfing you,
And look up to see the sun…
Jun 26, 2012
Jun 26, 2012 at 11:24 PM UTC
My hands look old.
I don't know what happened to their previous beings,
their soft, pale, younger selves.
My hands are cracked from the dry humorless days of anticipation.
I have hangnails, my skin so dry it's splitting from itself.
And they shake.
They shake along with my voice and my thoughts.
Trembling with excitement and worry.
When you're in the room,
especially when you're not, though.
I have stretch marks.
On my inner thighs, and on my sides,
they remind me of roads, of maps, of going places.
Each goosebump is a hillside,
each little crack in my dry skin is a riverbed, waiting for rain.
My body is a terrain of imperfections,
and I'm just trying to keep still enough
as to not disturb the world that I harvest.
Mar 11, 2012
Mar 11, 2012 at 10:02 PM UTC
filthy whiskey
smoking asphalt alleyways
roaring ******* windowsills
shuddering stoops
midnight money
shaking subway traffic
neon red hotels
battered archangel blues
starving madness
sweet ecstatic ***
naked eyes lounging
********** harlequin ******
blemished evenings
hopeless
humorless
concrete amnesia
blind hungry dreams
jukebox consciousness
bald drunken incantations
suicide waitresses
the holy pavement angel
tenement jazz
weeping
dreaming
scribbling *****
screaming delight
sirens
sunrise
disgorged rivers
tender moans
pure unshaven salvation
May 6, 2019
May 6, 2019 at 8:07 AM UTC
It in the lines and curves
of the syllables of her name
written in cursive flames of poetry
he found himself lost
in the hopeless tragedy
of ill fated fairy tales
and humorless comedies
of suicidal love affairs
and the thought of her smile
made him cower
to the shy dark corners
of silence and solitude
where he quietly dreamt
of what fury and flavor
her lips bleed when locked
in the eternal moment
of loves first kiss
and he blushed a little
as she slithered under the wants
of his skin
and he felt short of breath
and quick of pulse
as he imagined what witchcraft
she could weave
with her fingertips
gliding over his skin
and through his ribs
before settling her hand
over his trembling heart
and claiming it as her own
and he would glady
give her his heart
and his sins
and his flesh
and his soul
for what good could he do
with any of himself
but play the part of a fool
in the presence of the stars
beyond the heaven he found
in the endless song of her eyes
and on the blank pages
he kept under his sheets
and cover of the blanketed night sky
he wrote the syllables
of her name in cursive flames
and drifted through dreams
of love under the bloom
and shape of her smile
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 10:41 PM UTC
Echoes of promises
no-one meant,
Lies of meeting-again
Some last squishy hugs,
some false goodbyes
Confirmed the
flawed veracity
of friendships
But the laughter
On humorless jokes
And the boring classes
made absolutely fun
with those fools
makes me wanna go
Back to school.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
Soundlessly I creep
Into your head
Tiptoe around
Your secrets and dread
I knock upon
Your door of lies
Turn the ****
To peek inside
A humorless laugh
Escapes my lips
How had I known
The secrets you kept
I slam the door
Let my anger rage
Knowing it’d cause
An aching migraine
But it can’t compare
To the hate I feel
Just a manikin of clothes
For you to peel
I’m done with you
And you’re hurtful tricks
You are nothing to me
You son of a *****
Mar 31, 2021
Mar 31, 2021 at 7:44 PM UTC
I stand here while you smile at me with your cold, perfect smile, acting like nothing is wrong.
As if the most natural thing in the world is shutting out someone you supposedly care about so completely.
I’m happier without you in my life you said.
So why are you here now, playing at pretense?
Smiling with the same eyes that barely even glanced my way while you peeled me apart,
layer by layer, cutting me to the core with the coldness blade of apathy and rejection.
I would rather have suffered under the brunt of your anger, heard your reasons
instead of breaking myself against the wall of silence you built around yourself..
You aren’t so naïve as to think nothing mattered, when you saw every word slam home.
You said it look like you had just taken away my puppy. No, something much more dear to me.
My heart, giftwrapped for you in a shiny new bow, along with my fears, and pain, and loneliness, and a
lifetime's worth of freshly salted tears.
I hope you enjoyed your feast.
So why are you here now? What is it you want from me that I didn’t already give,
only to have you throw it back in my face?
You test me, as if to see if I can hold up under the strain of having you close, but yet not able to touch, to tell you what I really feel.
Because we both know you don’t like my honest side, the reality of us is too much for you,
when all you wanted was to escape your life through pleasant subterfuge.
Do you really think I want to hear how you and he are doing? your wonderful plans for the future?
Or about how to still stay in touch with your last girlfriend, the one you never really ever let go?
What is the goal of this twisted game you play?
I see now what you really wanted to do was hide from yourself.
I was your crutch-now that you can walk again I get put in the closet, until the next time you fall.
I was, and could have been, so much more but you weren’t ready for that.
So we’re back to the beginning, even though it feels much more like prolonging the ending.
A humorless punchline to the joke that our relationship turned into, and that’s not worth my time.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 3:15 PM UTC
humorless, funny, silliness without jesting only daggers
sharp as swords, heavy as a ten pound hammer
dull when false, but like dynamite when on bullseye
off the cuff, precise as a fist landed on the nose in a fight
but light when right, and strong when is needed a wrong
fun for all but the target, unless too broad the fall
try but not try again, right in the moment, wrong for the meek and aloof men
droll and witty, biting and bitten, all is lost know, another one is coming.
Dec 21, 2016
Dec 21, 2016 at 7:18 AM UTC
It slipped away,
Not sure if I wanted it to stay,
Somewhere along those laughs,
Humorless jokes,
The ones that made me hide how much I wanted to choke,
Life from you and I,
This disguise,
Was very unwise,
It could peak through,
Like a toe in a broken shoe,
Not sure quite what to do,
Just keep laughing,
Making it worse,
A silent curse,
Of taking things too far,
Or possibly worse not far enough,
Being around humans deemed tough,
Sometimes necessary,
The answer will vary,
Depend on the human,
And time of day,
There I go starting to stray,
Looks like it all gets away from me.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 8:05 PM UTC
I am not here for a reason.
I have a reason because I am here,
And don't start drawing your conclusions or jumping on me;
Reason was not bestowed upon me
There were no gods meddling my own businesses.
Reason was owned, earned and passed on by those,
At least some of those who share my blood.
Then there were some trying to fool them, to fool me,
Yet, I am not here for a reason,
I have a reason because I am here
I've earned it, I said it.
Leave your imaginary salvation heroes, happy self-degrading and sexless humorless slaves and martyrs.
As also --- and I am truly sorry for this ---
You are not here for a reason,
You have a reason, a passion, a drive, a **** provocative imaginative mind because you are here
You've earned it, **** it.
And if you don't have is because you are not looking enough.
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 10:43 AM UTC
Not pleased with this degenerate that stares back at me
Morals twisted like the springs where he just laied
Where the ****** thoughts each night breed
It’s innocent and it's playful and nothing is real
Repeating the words like a feeble mantra
Disgusted with the way she makes him feel
When did the this transformation occur?
Being this compassionate guy with his heart on his sleeve
To becoming this typical man obsessed with her
Young and beautiful she is everything you're not
You know this and you don't mind this
Bringing life into my heart that you left to rot
This gray in my beard should be the reason to quit
It’s been a Finch's life since you let love die
Covering up depressing thoughts with humorless dry whit
Now this new Venus who doesn't even know her place
She's the star of the dreams against her will
She's the reason his ethics disappeared without a trace
Each morning getting lost in in the fantasies that reality misread
Subconsciously forgets your existence while we play make believe
Drinking imaginary coffee with this juvenile ghost in bed
Waking up gets harder for a man with no self respect
But having a reason to be up is so new and exciting
Planning each step and hoping our paths connect
Pure and innocent is she
Real and scary you are
Atrocious and broken is me
This needs to end i know
Creating fictitious worlds
Of something that should never be
Jan 14, 2018
Jan 14, 2018 at 4:21 PM UTC
It’s funny that I am not sad,
Not funny ha ha,
Funny in the fact that I’m just simply mad.
I am enraged,
Livid
I am ******
I loathe the world for this brief time.
I hate it for its cruelty,
For its poor timing,
For its humorless jokes.
I want life to materialize in front of me,
Just so I can take swing after furious swing at it.
I want to beat the sunshine out of its eyes,
I want to rip the gleaming smile from its lips,
I want to plunge a dagger into its body,
Like it has so kindly placed in my heart.
I want to carve my initials into its chest,
Just so it will remember how it all felt for me.
I want to scream
And drop,
And cry.
till my body has dissolved into tears.
-ALC February 1, 2017
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 2:04 AM UTC
I might be just a distraction
Like flowers during hard times
Giving a funny quip to obtain reaction
Then falling back into line.
It's a bit obnoxious, leaving me a lack of real
I can only imagine how everyone else feels.
The goofy kid who opens his lid
just to laugh at himself and what everyone else did.
That's how I play it in my mind
That's how it plays in theirs too.
A one note joke spoke is funny
Until it's being told the hundredth time
It was quirky and a little punny
But best to leave a dying joke to die
Don't laugh, it encourages attention,
Walk past, leaving me no mention.
It's humorless and rumor is
I do it for self-defense and deflection,
The room is heavy and I hate the tension.
I might just be a distraction
Like an ice cream cone,
A sometimes treat worth a smile
But you don't miss it when it's gone.
Dec 17, 2019
Dec 17, 2019 at 9:10 PM UTC