"impolite" poems
To be a princess you must:
never be impolite
never slouch
never turn your back
never show who you are
always do whats right
always follow a scheduled
always wake up early
always always always
Well i'm glad i'm not a princess
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 10:23 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
ill-mannered impolite uneducated
how many words would describe rude
cheeky uncultured inconsiderate crude
how many words would say rude
they say money can't buy you class
then how much did you buy for your crass
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 12:42 AM UTC
Here come I to my own again,
Fed, forgiven and known again,
Claimed by bone of my bone again
And cheered by flesh of my flesh.
The fatted calf is dressed for me,
But the husks have greater zest for me,
I think my pigs will be best for me,
So I’m off to the Yards afresh.
I never was very refined, you see,
(And it weighs on my brother’s mind, you see)
But there’s no reproach among swine, d’you see,
For being a bit of a swine.
So I’m off with wallet and staff to eat
The bread that is three parts chaff to wheat,
But glory be!—there’s a laugh to it,
Which isn’t the case when we dine.
My father glooms and advises me,
My brother sulks and despises me,
And Mother catechises me
Till I want to go out and swear.
And, in spite of the butler’s gravity,
I know that the servants have it I
Am a monster of moral depravity,
And I’m ****** if I think it’s fair!
I wasted my substance, I know I did,
On riotous living, so I did,
But there’s nothing on record to show I did
Worse than my betters have done.
They talk of the money I spent out there—
They hint at the pace that I went out there—
But they all forget I was sent out there
Alone as a rich man’s son.
So I was a mark for plunder at once,
And lost my cash (can you wonder?) at once,
But I didn’t give up and knock under at once,
I worked in the Yards, for a spell,
Where I spent my nights and my days with hogs.
And shared their milk and maize with hogs,
Till, I guess, I have learned what pays with hogs
And—I have that knowledge to sell!
So back I go to my job again,
Not so easy to rob again,
Or quite so ready to sob again
On any neck that’s around.
I’m leaving, Pater. Good-bye to you!
God bless you, Mater! I’ll write to you!
I wouldn’t be impolite to you,
But, Brother, you are a hound!
3.8k
If Tuesdays are bad news days
Fridays are always sideways
Struggling
Hustling
Fumbling
Tumbling
Trembling stuttering
Impolite utterances
Brotherless
Misguided mothering
Distant cousins
Conditioned lovers
Struck by thunder
No structure to govern...
Monday is gonna come...
No matter what goes on in your life Monday is going to come
Give me one time that Monday have not approached?
Hold your head
You'll be alright
If not
Monday is still on it's way
If you stay stuck in muck
The world isn't
It will move onto a new week
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 8:31 PM UTC
tire ishq kī intihā chāhtā huuñ
mirī sādgī dekh kyā chāhtā huuñ
Your infinite love, I desire
Look at my humility what I desire
sitam ** ki ** vada-e-be-hijābī
koī baat sabr-āzmā chāhtā huuñ
Fury or your audacious-unveiling
Something fortitude-testing I desire
ye jannat mubārak rahe zāhidoñ ko
ki maiñ aap kā sāmnā chāhtā huuñ
Heavens be favourable for the religious
But us ever-so close, facing each other is what I desire
zarā sā to dil huuñ magar shoḳh itnā
vahī lan-tarānī sunā chāhtā huuñ
A tiny heart but so spirited I am
To hear those words ‘’By no means canst thou see Me’’ I desire
koī dam kā mehmāñ huuñ ai ahl-e-mahfil
charāġh-e-sahar huuñ bujhā chāhtā huuñ
Determined guest I am O’ people of assembly
Morning lamp I am, quenching I desire
bharī bazm meñ raaz kī baat kah dī
baḌā be-adab huuñ sazā chāhtā huuñ
Within a full gathering I have disclosed the secret
So impolite I am, your punishment I desire
Note:
Moses prays to God for guidance and begs God to reveal himself to him. It is narrated in the Quran that God tells him that it would not be possible for Moses to perceive God, but that He would reveal himself to the mountain, stating: "By no means canst thou see Me (direct); But look upon the mount; if it abide in its place, then shalt thou see Me." When God reveals himself to the mountain, it instantaneously turns into ashes, and Moses loses consciousness. When he recovers, he goes down in total submission and asks forgiveness of God.
✒ Translated by ℐamil Hussain
Words of Muhammad Iqbal
Apr 18, 2022
Apr 18, 2022 at 11:14 PM UTC
Noon had barely finished his circuit
when I engaged the Sun in conversation,
wondering if her healing rays were a golden ode to pain?
Abruptly interrupted;
shirts' silk thread dripping displeasure,
at the sudden moistness of its condition.
In return and in much the same verbal position,
I chided this thread,
intoxicated with sticky saline libation,
much less for the distraction
as opposed to the - parley intrusion,
citing;
“My dear shirt it’s impolite to gravitate beyond one's social inclusion”
Instinctively,
back and fingers joined this spoken foray
distancing themselves in unison
from the sozzled garments' argument.
Arching and pulling away,
his company no longer entreated,
whatever beauty he had,
now lost,
in his present
dis - position.
In agreement and sunshine unabating,
I attempted to continue our once lovely conversation.
But she;
her glow unwaning,
had moved on,
no longer finding such small talk entertaining.
© Qwey.ku
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 12:41 PM UTC
It shapes the way I wanna follow,
it's the only curve that promises no sorrow.
The white trembling trance,
the key to most people's romance.
The flash of an angel,
but shame of the devil,
if you were to open your mind it'd be level,
if you looked my way
I'd show several.
It's always there when I'm not,
but when I think of you I can't stop.
That probably sounded bad
but I don't care,
mainly because it'd be so impolite
not to copy that and
stare.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 3:07 AM UTC
I've got a handbag full of stanzas
with your name all over them.
By the end of each week
I've crushed every word
into dust
and I watch from my window
as the crumbs rise
to form the milky way
(your favorite).
As the ruins ascended
through the layers of atmosphere,
they lost all consistency.
To you, they were minute flecks of gold
sparkling in the sky.
I linger on the impolite outskirts
of wishing-wells
and for each coin that ebbs to the floor,
I surrender another page to you.
And who knows,
maybe this complex is not complex at all
- a simple thread needing to be scored,
or maybe that
would be the end of me.
For all I know,
you're made of smoke and mirrors;
I could only hope for such a mild disease.
Oct 12, 2011
Oct 12, 2011 at 2:37 PM UTC
I'm disowning my name.
In America, my name is cumbersome
and clumsy
and confusing
so I'm leaving it behind.
See,
my name starts with an S and ends with a Z
and one's a mirror of the other
so they're like bookends
for a collection of letters
that spell a name
that I never really felt belonged to me.
Every morning, when I wake up,
I wriggle into my name
but it doesn't feel quite right.
It's like borrowing your best friend's jeans
even though she's tall and skinny
and you've got a hundred generations of Puertoriqueña swirling around the blood in your hips.
I don't like my name
cause it doesn't diffuse across your lips.
It bursts through your teeth.
It's got a weight on your tongue
that brings down the sound with the weight of
a thousand sinking ships.
I've got a
Hispanic Titanic of a name
but my skin's so white
it seems impolite to claim an ethnicity
that only lends its elasticity
because of my father
and the people that brought him here.
My name is not me.
It never was.
It is an anchor that keeps me on the island of what my family used to be.
I am not a race.
I am not a category next to a box on a sheet of paper.
I am the syncopated heartbeat of a tribal drum.
I am the ****** whisper of water on the sand.
I am the sunburn on the corrugated tin.
I am the hunger in the stomachs of the working poor.
So when I die
let me not be remembered by
fifteen letters I did not choose
seven syllables I did not select
three titles I did not ask for.
Let them tell stories of
what I did
where I went
what I saw
who I loved
the words I spoke
the thoughts I formulated,
ignorant of my race
free of bias and prejudice
and preconceived notions
of what I should have been
because in the end
none of this will matter
I'll have no strength for words
but with a penultimate breath
I'll still be able to smile.
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 10:27 AM UTC
I don't trust you even if I do love you
You always say everything will be okay
Even if you say the most touching words in the world I won't believe you
Coz whatever point of view I may look, only lies will portray
I respect you coz you are the superior
But I’m mad at you coz you’re taking advantage of it
You tell this, you tell that, you all got the power
But in my mind I know all of those words you utter are full of ****
I don’t want to listen to you anymore
Or even hear your voice asking how am I doing
I’m glad that you’re far away from home
I’m mad coz I know you’re happy flirting
I know these words of mine is very impolite
But I can’t hide it anymore
I would like to thank you for still being there
And say **** you for still hurting my mom more and more
Sep 6, 2011
Sep 6, 2011 at 2:35 PM UTC
A line to define us is what you imagine,
When you hear the words,
Autism Spectrum Disorder,
It generally happens.
You place us in order,
Based on our physical representation,
And here come the words that I must slaughter,
Before you draw this misrepresentation.
We are not,
The terms ‘high functioning’,
Or ‘low functioning’,
In fact this is actually quite impolite.
To give a more representable label,
Please use the terms,
Severe Autism,
Moderate,
Or mild.
Every autistic person,
Has a different set of strengths and needs,
So do not presume the ‘functioning’ term,
As it tends to arrange and mistreat,
Every autistic person,
Who experiences challenges,
In different versions.
With these terms,
We have created the gap between neurotypicals and the autistic on our own.
When after all,
A better understanding is all we need to be realistic,
Because we all share the same bones.
So, no two people you meet with autism,
Are categorically the same.
We are a spectrum of many beautiful colours,
And we are all here to play the same game.
There are multiple areas where we can succeed,
And just like you,
Others, where we are not so great.
Mar 27, 2021
Mar 27, 2021 at 3:40 PM UTC
FEW POETIC REFLECTIONS ON OLD AGE
Dear Poet Friends, after a long break, I have composed a few lines as a very senior citizen and a lover of poetry. If you like the same, kindly Re-post this poem for wider circulation. Thanks and best wishes, - Raj Nandy of New Delhi.
It has been often been said that old age is that period of life,
When all bad habits are given up on doctor’s advice,
And yet you don’t feel all that good while you survive!
Yet I do try to take some solace from Robert Browning’s poem
‘Rabbi Ben Ezra’ which says;-
‘’Grow old along with me!
For the best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made.’’
Despite my grey hairs and wrinkled face,
With creaking joints and scattered aches and pains,
‘’Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress’’,
In thanks giving to the Lord and sings his praise;
As I recall WB Yeats’ ‘Sailing Byzantium’, - that
lovely poem from my college days.
As our biological clock continues to tick incessantly,
Getting older becomes compulsory.
But becoming Wiser in wrinkled years remains optional,
A choice our free will has the opportunity to make!
I recall what Agatha Christie had once said,
That an archaeologist is the best husband a woman can get,
For the older she gets, the more interested in her he
becomes;
With due respect to our women whose age is impolite
not ask.
Here I recall what the Pulitzer Prize winner Robert Frost
had once said,
That a diplomat is a man who always remembers a woman’s
birthday and not her age.
I recall the observation of Sartre the famous French philosopher
who had said,
That more sand that escapes from the hourglass of our life,
The clearer we should see through it as a blessing of time!
It is true that we live in deeds, not in years; in thoughts, not breaths;
In feelings, not in figures on a dial, - as James Bailey had said.
I finally conclude by quoting the first stanza from ‘Beautiful Old Age’ by DH Lawrence;
‘’It ought to be lovely to be old
To be full of the peace that comes of experience
And wrinkled ripe fulfilment.’’
-Raj Nandy of New Delhi.
Dec 19, 2019
Dec 19, 2019 at 11:04 AM UTC
*(this poem don't matter much
unless you balk with ***** to essay upon,
thyself, thy valentine failures,
children and ex's who have ex'd you out,
sad love songs
one more time,
even joyous ones,
foolishness human,
then this intro source code,
is an unnecessary winter weather advisory)*
a phrase, song~played, scratches,
brain self-commands
via electric synapse
To: the current in-resident body
extrude denude private places
riff,
get to thy work,
decompose on them words:
in the private places
play with the lowly lowest ranking,
private, who by nature, sees
finer the dirtiest,
privy to the privy,
privilege them
to the most personal,
spit/spill/weep/deep
some or none of it all,
cause the scratch is the
poetic salvation to that
bitch~itch, write
the best you get,
dispossess the beastie best
in the pvt. places,
ain't much/no difference
tween beastie and all the crapper rest
draw from the private places,
cast up to light,
revelations devaluations sensations
impolite,
well kept secrets
if you can say it good,
then draw it up from the well
where the private places
were|where sent to drown,
and if you can't,
no bother brother,
after this exculpation excavation,
I'll go back with you
to adding a rock to the
bottom of the pile,
the mountain of superficial crap
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 12:13 PM UTC
Love struck right through my chest.
And there it planted a seed.
No matter how much I protest,
It crept up and grew like a ****
It walked up when my back was turned.
How very unkind how very impolite,
It leads me only to get spurned.
And brings with it lonely a night.
Oh why did love do such a thing?
It likes to pick on me, love does.
Did it have to pluck each heart string?
But for the best it truly was.
For if love had decided not to creep at all,
I might have decidedly turned away,
I might never’ve taken down my wall.
Sneaky love has given me a chance today.
Feb 15, 2011
Feb 15, 2011 at 9:26 AM UTC
the scream come from daffodils and parchment wrapped around dead fish
and demi-loaves of lunacy at new moon
succulent remedies to what not
and whatever... you remain altogether opulent in your nonchalance
whatever you wanted is dust; but you're not in France
you're maimed in false lies
of the ripple...
you're the noose garnet
swinging from the harpy's tongue
an impolite brigand
in the hate place
of your
miff.
and for what ?
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 2:55 PM UTC
in my obliviousness
inadvertent and unintentional
some may say as usual
i disturbed a wasp nest
the heightened bombilation
an anger-pitched droning
unheard somehow
therefore unheeded
until that impolite *****
a warning sting
through t-shirt to torso
followed by a few more
in quick succession
set my legs moving
apologetically away
with hands raised
chastened and contrite
both in supplication
and in order to remove
the offending article
of clothing
the oversensitive wasp
having become trapped within
defensively stinging
as nature directs
to be honest
its overzealous instincts
began to feel
more like spite
than mere survival
Aug 24, 2023
Aug 24, 2023 at 11:52 AM UTC
throw fireworks at little brothers,
laugh, until they start crying, then hide
make mom cry, a lot. worry her, a lot.
make everyone who loves you cry, at least twice
run your ******* up a flagpole, steal a flag
smoke cigarettes at school
through bad ***** and insincerity
get drunk, then kiss everybody
borrow people's things
make them regret lending to you
throw up in such a way it'll ruin a party
throw up in someone's bed
leave it for them later
buy cheap drugs, steal cheap clothes,
exploit the good nature of others
spit at someone's feet
start useless arguments,
especially with bigots, especially when drunk,
especially when you need to impress people
get kicked out of something holy and sacred,
in the process, shame your grandparents
flip the bird, yell impolite things and trivia
at friends, strangers, anyone
set a plastic trashcan on fire,
leave it somewhere important
forget about it
pierce your face, more than once
pierce somewhere not on your face
show people you shouldn't
say trite thoughts, dress them up with $10 words
look pedantic, unsmiling, and snooty
put everything off, procrastinate
until it ***** you up, wonder what happened
finally,
stay awake at night, remembering all this,
then pity yourself, you ******* *******
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:42 PM UTC
sometimes hearsay isn't enough
I'm digging, digging,
oh, just raking up the flower bed
you have a sweet face
open yet so guarded
what secrets do you hide behind cherry lips?
you will share them with me over cake and cold tea
you will not take them to your grave, it's impolite
pray tell, what brings you here
and who gave you secrets
speak, those lips aren't just for the painting
why so silent, lady? silence is impolite
I said, you will share your secrets with me
I've already prepared cake and tea and a soft bed for you
(is it normal to be so angry)
the tea is cold, I apologize
you see, we have no warmth in these parts
you're new here, so you have to learn quickly
secrets are our currency
you have lips like a flower, quite dainty
(flowers also die easily)
don't make me pluck the petals, one by one
woman, deflowered
you will share your secrets, one by one
yes of course, I will send the painting to your husband back home
I walk out onto the veranda
in the living room, the butler picks up cherry-red petals and stores them in a jar
I see the flower bed in the distance (at least what's left of it)
I did my best digging it up, I believe it makes a soft bed
I told you, she will not take her secrets to her grave
fret not, woman, oblivion is not an issue
I will see you in flower beds, and in portraits of guarded smiles
your family will remember you in the painting I sold to a museum instead
woman, portrait
you're no longer a mystery
thanks for sharing your secrets over cake and cold tea
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 11:53 PM UTC
The other day, a house nearly fell on my elbow
Berating the sky for being so impolite
It gifted me this chevalier ...
Wh-what a rad surprise!
S T, 11 july
, , , ,
, , , , ,
, , , , , ,
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 3:37 AM UTC
I'm glad that when I was younger my family fed me with enough candies, So i would never exited with random free candies. I just take it, and say thanks. Since denied an offer is impolite. Plus you don't want overly excited over a random candy, and regret later. (E.g. Someone might kidnap using the candy tactic. Or your candy might be a drug). The sweetness of the candy doesn't last forever, you need some like your family to supply you with enough dose of sweetness, without demand something in return. How would we found the sincere candy supplier? My tip, situational and textuality of the candy.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 6:24 PM UTC
**or
how very ******* rude!**
your unintentionally agressive, shining glare
reflects on all the
silverware and china and crystal
and it's the
last
drop.
i say,
but enough about that
let's talk about
the fact that you're really ******* distracting*
(see, i can't even finish my tea!)
you are
neon and flashing, police car lights
a warning:
blinding,
seizure and discomfort inducing
and tacky
*but oh so ******* beautiful*
(in the wrong way
i suppose
laugh)
can't you see the commotion you cause?
always *******
parading
like it's something to be proud of
like you don't care
like you don't know
like you don't even ******* notice
your appeal is
offensive and
disgustingly disconcerting and
impolite
[ sometimes i wonder if you even own a ******* mirror
and if you did,
would you, [upon
gazing at yourself staring
like it's just the thing to ******* do,]
would you *****
(like i want to)
on the floor
on the food
on your new shoes ]
sigh look
can you just go
be you somewhere else,
please
?
you're making me sick
to my stomach and
i
can't
breathe
cough
i'm sorry,
it's just
the bile isn't helping my sore throat.
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 10:31 PM UTC
A traffic light
In the middle of the night
Is the invite
To a midflight
Stop
And the starlight
Of a fallen meteorite
Begins to reunite
Some impolite
Feelings
Because bodies have an appetite
For pure delight
In things that excite
And ignite
A craving
And in hindsight
Wish to be gripped tight
To rewrite
A Goodnight
Without words
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 3:27 PM UTC
What would I say about it!
It seems i have no definition!
Love might be.... Let Others Voice Emotions!
Love might be... Live On Vapidity Effluent!
Does it have a meaning?
Do I need to search for its meaning?
I do admit that I'm Lost
I'm losing faith...
A faith in my own feelings or what things are going inside me!
A faith in something called "Love"
This Label which has been given by others!
A faith that this thing so called "Love" Does Exist!
They told me... I am searching for extraordinary woman!
And they didn't see the extraordinary inside me that I want to bring out!
I am willing to be rude, if i want clarity!
I am willing to be impolite, if i want answers!
I am willing to be no more nice, if I want to claim my rights!
I just want to my pain to rest and relax!
I want to own them and respect them!
I want to honor their service fro what i BECAME AND WHAT I WILL BECOME!
I want to take my hand away and not cover my mouth anymore!
I JUST wanted to be myself!
If you "Love", "Care" and "Dare".... Just Help me...If you felt me... Then Thank you
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 12:42 AM UTC
You changed me
You changed how I look at things
In this generation
Of this posterior celebration
Which I am, no doubt
Aware that you’re a straight up knockout
From your lips that pout
To your delicious Double D's
Made me just say from the rooftops
Save the *******
Is that chauvinistic of me?
Is that impolite of me?
Save The *******
I finally saw the light
I love the *******
They are love
They are life
Save the *******
They are the sustenance of our being
Now, I’m not that perverted
I’m just practicing what I’m preaching
This is to the girls that I accidentally touched
Their community chest
Their blessed *******
I sincerely apologize
It wasn’t on purpose
Please excuse my hands
They just got careless
To the girl who asked me
“Do you want to see my *****
Well, what do you think?
I said yes within two blinks
I expected a glimpse
Of those small beautiful *******
But she said it was just a test
My bad
I guess I just confessed to
Save the *******
Is that chauvinistic of me?
Is that impolite of me?
Save the *******
I finally saw the light
I love the *******
They are love
They are life
Save the *******
They are the sustenance of our being
Now, I’m not that perverted
I’m just practicing what I’m preaching
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 1:32 AM UTC