"ineffectual" poems
an incredible incite (the ruthless volatility of words)
~for L.B.~
the only place of solitaire solitude in the city accompanies me
like a faithful country dog that doesn’t know better to be afraid,
of moving cars, sleepless night terrors and unscripted “dreams”
where image and words say come “follow me” with ruthlessness and no cloying come hither looks and
see and take and recall with perfect midnight blue sky clarity for
the incredible incite of credible insight
surfacing unexpectedly in a intemperate pool of slushy snow,
that will be an ice storm of painful confrontations with naked
inner truths standing outside in sunny sub zero playground
there is great risk. volatility gone wild. when the speed
governor is removed and you live at 100 mph on local streets,
when the merest slight of an accidental incidental touch
transforms into an incite incident and hell is the threat
that you will not die today and your own words will ruthless
pull from the nerve places where sensible and sensual cannot
coexist and this write this script is a poetical insight inside, an
incredible incite and what your spilling is spaghetti sauce blood
when you left your brain on broil, instead of the faking daily of
slow simmering ineffectual intellectual words that just don’t
cut the crap. your addiction complete, you cannot live without
the incredible incite, the ruthless volatility of words,
otherwise why rough write what you see
in the blind
beyond the blind
1/6/18 5:03am
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 5:17 AM UTC
Clouds roll in and thunder roars
Tears, they fall in rage
burning rivers down the face
Of the once innocent
Humanity ripped from souls
The heartless rise
The careless linger
What was once is no longer
What should be, never was
Ineffectual words
Counting down to nothing
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 7:13 PM UTC
To some it’s all conjectural,
Philosophically conceptual.
You think you’re intellectual
But your reasoning is ineffectual.
Reviled both by heterosexuals
Insulted as well by homosexuals
And some ugly issues contractual
We are the besmirched bisexuals.
While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.
The straights tell us we must decide
Then put the other gender aside.
The complaints range far and wide
Even gay people opt to deride.
We don’t feel welcomed anywhere inside.
Why doesn’t tolerance coincide
When nobody seems to take our side?
It’s freedom, get on the bus and ride.
While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.
We know, after years of research
Gender choice is not learned in church.
It can be shaped with rods of birch
But those are better for birds to perch.
Denying us freedom is an ugly lurch
Past including truth in a morality search.
Back to when we were ruled by a church
And any variance was besmirched.
While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 3:01 PM UTC
If I could speak
I would spill these lamentations
cloistered sins and secrets
whispered vespers for wretched dreams
Retching sentiment
this malignant manifesto
a macabre mantra
eats my skin from within
transient refuge for temporal treasures
inexorable moments carry life away
tick tick tick
the seconds scurry
flurried ineffectual supplications
demigods of affluence
the cacophony of the machine
I spin within
cogniscient of my myopia
the funneled tunnel vision
drips from the end of a pen
furtive verses on paper
fading ochre moments
somber drops of ash and bone
poetic exorcisms
of wicked things unknown
phrenetic
sensibilities trickle
spilling life
black and withering
is the gain worth sacrifice
crackling fat of dreams
too costly
this shallow palette
self obsessed
eyes gouged out
hands shackled
to the reality
the immortality
trust the dust
the dust becomes me
soul focused on decay
spectre death
devouring this unsparked spirit
If I could speak
truth into your heart
would you
believe.....
in anything more than what you see
I trust the dust and dust will be
the remnant me
TL Boehm
042508
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
I took my ****** sister Marigold to the cinema,
she had asked specifically and eventually
(she doesn't speak a lot on account of her awful stammer
and amazing cleft palate which has won prizes)
so I knew that this was something she really wanted,
and I teased for her bad taste
when she told me that she wanted to see
"Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Charlie
and the Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Chocolate Factory".
It was a Saturday evening and the local picture house
was showing a re-run of the classic starring Gene Wilder
as the enigmatically stylish ***** Wonka,
and not that steaming great pictorial **** served up by Tim Burton
and I knew that town would be busy with oiks
so as a treat I dressed her up better than usual,
and even gave her a hosedown to get rid of the poopy pong.
She had stopped crying by the time the feature started
and I think the Ooompa Loompa costume grew on her
but that maybe the orange paint was a bit of a bad idea
as people had stared as it was Day-Glo and she stood out
like a bulldog's ******* but I stand by my decision
to dye her hair green, it had taken thought and planning;
it was meant to add to her excitement of the day,
so I meant well, even if I was ineffectual in the end.
I sat her on my lap in the picture house
but still paid for two seats but I do get one ticket half price
though because of her disabilities, so it wasn't all bad,
every cloud and all that, you know what I mean?
She tends to get a little down every now and then
but a £1 cinema ticket partly makes up for being born legless.
I knew from past experience that the cinema staff
prefer me to carry my stunted sis rather than wheeling her in
(I do recall that the time I taped her to her skateboard
proved somewhat a disaster - but really, the fat usher
had a torch and should have watched her step
or otherwise she wouldn't have bust her neck).
The Ooompa Loompa costume allowed Marigold
to amuse herself during the screening
(as there were no leggings to the costume).
She barely noticed when the fat little hero
got blown up on screen except to dribble "chocolate"
from her own little chocolate factory.
It was, all in all, quite an eventful outing
and one I might consider repeating but
probably in a different cinema next time,
mainly because we got banned for life
when the manager saw the condition of the seat.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 8:06 AM UTC
On days of satisfaction I embrace the lights that illuminate our urban lifestyles
But on days of frustration I am capable of bending that light into fragile
reflections, which shed the truth amongst all creations
Because I'd love to compile a breed of hostile intellectuals
Who, I'd imagine, to fall on their knees begging for mercy from their own knowing
I am an ineffectual
Elitist.
Don't mistake my rage for power, as my power no longer exists
If you can believe it
If that’s how you see it
This environment constructed and was destructive towards the continuation of my ego and I am clawing my way out of a pit
A time ago I was the terrorist of my own self worth, and now I torture the weak- minded to nourish the hole in me to finally be a whole
It's a vicious cycle of how low a being will go to reach a ****** in time
The final stage is to reach self acceptance to show, lo and behold
silence.
where tranquility will obliterate greed
and intelligence will revive the need to be free from everyone else's thinking,
Morality.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 11:52 PM UTC
***** girl. godly beast.
I couldn't be
one of those
beautifuls
if I pleased.
tribal bones stained
with European empirico
I am black death disease,
just human trash
that learned to read
& I believe bootleg genius
is being
massively reproduced
more cheaply & as we speak
is being weakened
so as to be spoon fed
to the cool kids.
yknow they
couldn't do it
by themselves.
never sweated.
laughed instead
yes
I seen em
inchin to the edge
but
I didn't
do anything about it.
I kinda feel guilty
cause I didn't
do anything about it.
It's just a ****** up
awful sound,
a whole generation
hitting the ground
at once.
Man. it really
puts things in perspective.
kinda makes you wonder
what's coming next.
medicine medley
ineffectual
malady infectious
witch hunt etiquette,
I think in pictures
disney depictions of
apocalyptic ****
yet to be decrypted
I rip myself to pieces
every day.
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 5:36 AM UTC
I go to bed early and am quick to rise,
my room is tidy as can be.
Heaven forbid I should ever tell lies,
I have no faults, or can’t you see?
Whenever my parents wish to speak
I turn an ever eager ear.
Never would I give them cheek,
that is too brash for me, I fear.
My teachers’ words are my priority,
never would I cause them duress.
I must bow to their seniority,
and never will it cause me stress.
Juggling six demanding classes
is such a simple thing to do.
That’s six straight-A passes,
a 4.0 is nothing new.
Exercise is an important act,
all the leading physicians say,
So tennis, soccer and varsity track
are how I fill the rest of my day.
But as each evening wears on,
after days that were just too speedy,
I am constantly drawn
to serve meals to the needy.
I always speak grace before we eat,
in the most humble and catholic way,
so for food, light and heat
and for God’s love I truly pray.
This is my third square meal
that I’ve enjoyed today,
with portions small so I don’t feel
that I’ve increased what I weigh.
Now to homework I must run,
with adequate time for all.
Equations and essays are so much fun,
and studying history I would never stall.
On the weekends my friends and I
have more fun than you could know.
Root beer and warm apple pie
bring us from sugar high to low.
Despite my perfect SATs
I am more than intellectual.
My drawing skills, if you please,
are much more than ineffectual.
And on the stage I am a riot,
My singing voice is like a bell.
My pirouettes and leaps are oh so quiet,
Is there anything I can’t do well?
Mediocrity would be such a drag,
why would anyone choose it?
I wave perfection like a flag,
it has always been the perfect fit.
Why do some make it seem so tough?
Isn’t this everyone’s goal?
The pure exhaustion isn’t that rough.
And all perfection cost was my soul.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 4:29 PM UTC
*
When FATE and DESTINY
Makes BELOVEDz-LOVERZ meet
And when they Open up
Their hearts & SOUL
To show their ETERNAL AGAPE LOVE
On display to the society and world
It'll be an apocalypse moment of LOVE
******
The modern age we live in
Where each person is hidden behind
A fake mask of artificial shallow-ness
Speaking parroted knowledge
Of ineffectual education
When LOVING dismantles
Such faulty veils of life
It'll be an apocalypse moment of LOVE
*****
BELOVEDz-LOVERz always shower
Joy and happiness to one-another
Only they understand
The hidden POWERS of LOVE
Read between the lines of these words
Understand what LOVER-Z eyes are saying
Once LOVERz-BELOVEDz eyes
Blink in synchronized ONENESS
The world will wake-up from
Their wasted slumber of
Rat-racing success, power & wealth
It'll be an apocalypse moment of LOVE
*******
When the heart of flowers
Will burn with LOVE
Those times the dew drops
Will emit insatiable LOVE fire
This season
When the Nature will nurture
LOVE flowers to bloom
In every corner of planet earth
The sky will adore itself
With a billion color rainbows
It'll be an apocalypse moment of LOVE
*
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 12:29 AM UTC
Under a stagnant sky,
Gloom out of gloom uncoiling into gloom,
The River, jaded and forlorn,
Welters and wanders wearily--wretchedly--on;
Yet in and out among the ribs
Of the old skeleton bridge, as in the piles
Of some dead lake-built city, full of skulls,
Worm-worn, rat-riddled, mouldy with memories,
Lingers to babble to a broken tune
(Once, O, the unvoiced music of my heart!)
So melancholy a soliloquy
It sounds as it might tell
The secret of the unending grief-in-grain,
The terror of Time and Change and Death,
That wastes this floating, transitory world.
What of the incantation
That forced the huddled shapes on yonder shore
To take and wear the night
Like a material majesty?
That touched the shafts of wavering fire
About this miserable welter and wash--
(River, O River of Journeys, River of Dreams!)--
Into long, shining signals from the panes
Of an enchanted pleasure-house,
Where life and life might live life lost in life
For ever and evermore?
O Death! O Change! O Time!
Without you, O, the insuperable eyes
Of these poor Might-Have-Beens,
These fatuous, ineffectual Yesterdays!
2.3k
Words spill like an avalanche down a mountain,
Swamping out the message in a flurry of exposition.
The plateau crumbles, dropping great sheets
Of icy statements down like old guillotine blades,
To shatter against the cold rock in tears,
Too frozen, too brittle to pierce.
Such noise, such ineffectual destruction,
Laying snow on snow on piles of snow;
But the mountain stays still beneath the weight,
Its stony face unmoved for yet another day,
Knowing it will soon abate.
As the tide drifts to a halt,
The mountain slowly, contemptuously,
Turns away.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 5:45 PM UTC
Oh, the ineffectual deluded intellectual
Cream of the crop barstool philosopher
Yes, you are included
Potential does not excuse the fool
Nor does a place at the top
In debates at coffeeshops
Indicate a prowess that places beyond school
Unbound by reality is your perception
Of yourself as some exception
Some paragon of cool
Please proceed with your perspective
Surely there is no source better respected
Mar 23, 2010
Mar 23, 2010 at 9:43 PM UTC
Consuming devastation
as if it's life-giving bread
Flesh, a merciless master
Ineffectual thoughts sway my head
With each indulgence
the captor becomes more emboldened
Betraying the true master
to whom I'm beholden
Surrender comes easier
with each new concession
Just one more link
in the chain of spiritual recession
Slaking every desire
as the senses grow cold
While the battle rages
between body and soul
One will be nurtured
the other put under thumb
Sin is spiritual Novocain
just making me numb
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 5:00 PM UTC
I. LONELINESS
Her Word
One ought not to have to care
So much as you and I
Care when the birds come round the house
To seem to say good-bye;
Or care so much when they come back
With whatever it is they sing;
The truth being we are as much
Too glad for the one thing
As we are too sad for the other here—
With birds that fill their *******
But with each other and themselves
And their built or driven nests.
II. HOUSE FEAR
Always—I tell you this they learned—
Always at night when they returned
To the lonely house from far away
To lamps unlighted and fire gone gray,
They learned to rattle the lock and key
To give whatever might chance to be
Warning and time to be off in flight:
And preferring the out- to the in-door night,
They. learned to leave the house-door wide
Until they had lit the lamp inside.
III. THE SMILE
Her Word
I didn’t like the way he went away.
That smile! It never came of being gay.
Still he smiled—did you see him?—I was sure!
Perhaps because we gave him only bread
And the wretch knew from that that we were poor.
Perhaps because he let us give instead
Of seizing from us as he might have seized.
Perhaps he mocked at us for being wed,
Or being very young (and he was pleased
To have a vision of us old and dead).
I wonder how far down the road he’s got.
He’s watching from the woods as like as not.
IV. THE OFT-REPEATED DREAM
She had no saying dark enough
For the dark pine that kept
Forever trying the window-latch
Of the room where they slept.
The tireless but ineffectual hands
That with every futile pass
Made the great tree seem as a little bird
Before the mystery of glass!
It never had been inside the room,
And only one of the two
Was afraid in an oft-repeated dream
Of what the tree might do.
V. THE IMPULSE
It was too lonely for her there,
And too wild,
And since there were but two of them,
And no child,
And work was little in the house,
She was free,
And followed where he furrowed field,
Or felled tree.
She rested on a log and tossed
The fresh chips,
With a song only to herself
On her lips.
And once she went to break a bough
Of black alder.
She strayed so far she scarcely heard.
When he called her—
And didn’t answer— didn’t speak—
Or return.
She stood, and then she ran and hid
In the fern.
He never found her, though he looked
Everywhere,
And he asked at her mother’s house
Was she there.
Sudden and swift and light as that
The ties gave,
And he learned of finalities
Besides the grave.
1.8k
I have an unquiet mind
The gears up there just twirl and grind
It never stops it's wound up tight
Sometimes up there it's really bright
Thoughts unstoppable, and really intellectual
Other times my brain is just ineffectual
And all my thoughts quickly take fight
And then it turns dark as a moonless night
But even in the dark the gears still turn
It's just different thoughts that burn
It's terrifying then the one's you'll find
But sometimes the light and dark get all intwind
Then it is intelligent madness
Paints a gruesome picture on that grey matter canvas
But still the gears just strain and wind
All up here in my unquiet mind
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
You think you're the better writer with
Your indentations,
Arrogant alliteration,
Games of Rhymation;
When You Capitalize For No Good Reason
OR TYPE IN ALL CAPS;
When you type in italic just because you can;
With thy ineffectual employment of Shakespearean formulation
Or elongated conveyance of your articulation,
When you type in
funny patterns to
better express the
thoughtfulness and
superiority behind the gemstone
artist,
And, all- your; meaningful, strategically placed' punctuation!
And perpisfuly mispled wurds bcuz yur so ironic,
And your cryptic title that's meant to come off as genius.
Dylan could crack a skull without a hammer.
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC
*The strain of survival in its most righteous form
Fighting arrogance through a repetitive storm
Day in and day out I pled guilty to incompetence
Bowing to the man who wears a crown of dominance
Seen through his lens of ineffectual views
Is the man of abhorrence yet to pay his dues
The roars of demise are seen as sweet
To the man who is begging for rigorous defeat
The man screams and he shouts for an endless battle
While I stand from afar seeing him beat from his cattle
The man seeks for loyalty in all the wrong places
True colors can't be veiled behind multiple faces*
***Weakened with regret of abusing all his peers
He is forever lost in his home made of tears
-Joseph B Schneider***
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 2:54 AM UTC
Oh baby,
prepare yourself for a fitting tribute
at the hands of my lyrical ability.
I will rhyme effectively
much as a successful sportsman
might employ his talents
in order to win a tournament of some kind.
Indeed, my mastery of rhythm and rhyme
will be such
that you will find yourself very powerfully
attracted to me.
Girl,
you put me in mind of a famous celebrity
noted for her physical beauty.
If you were, let's say, a car,
you would be
a really good car.
The sort of car
I would wish to own and drive.
Not convinced?
Then let me assure you
that I can easily put paid to my rivals
by deploying the linguistic and musical prowess
which I believe I mentioned above.
Oh yeah.
Incidentally,
I would think nothing
of expending quite considerable sums
on nice things to give you.
That would be nice,
wouldn't it?
So, baby,
if these enticements are sufficient to stir your interest
in me
then I would be delighted
to exchange
contact details
or something.
Oh yeah. Get down.
Mar 4, 2011
Mar 4, 2011 at 4:23 AM UTC
Excrement of the intangible
The iron ****** lung
The sharp inhalation - raspy reality
The thought that all is too much
The repressing of doubts in the hollow
The incommunication at the office
The freezing of the faculties
The desparate sigh two chairs away
The sensation of lost in a maze
The plaintive face of misunderstanding - and
The allocation of the assets
The incessant attempt at grubbing funds from already empty pockets
The sneer of the Tax Man
The ineffectual Cops and
The stern eyes of judgement
The remainder of all that was sacred
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 5:10 PM UTC
As she adjusted her bra strap,
I noticed my lust.
Blindingly sevidical, but as brief as a wrap,
To control, to control, let it fall to the dust.
I wished for many a time
Merely to speak, to flow, allow my thoughts to congeal.
Alas, it was faulty; only amounting to my sacral slime.
I should realise, fortify the need for reckless zeal.
Claim envy. Jealousy. Angst.
A coward. A loser. A failure.
For sure, for sure. It appears it canst.
Only to seek, touch, comprehend your allure.
Sirens and succubi hold no claim.
Vixens and Amazons wither in your light.
Incorporate: Intelligence. Ineffectual. Insane.
For you lasted longer than any mere sight.
They will ask me, one day
How I allowed the fissure to exist.
Fall. Fall. At the bottom you lay.
I will respond, “It was my cowardice I kissed”
Dec 12, 2010
Dec 12, 2010 at 11:01 PM UTC
Life
Life is highly overrated
World-peace is now oxymoronic
Profanity is the new trend
Cost of political ****** eh!
Five hundred bucks for a peaceful end
Hence, life is overrated
Diplomacy and logic fiend the heart
The illusion of pragmatism
***** up your right brain part
Your love is a black hole
Ends at its start
You reach your destination
Reckon it your win
In the process
Reality check!
You
Lost
Everything
Was it worth it
You see, Life is overrated
Death
Death is trusted
The surity is insane
It is surreal
Only one upshot to the game
You look forward to it
Ineffectual is disdain
You may not be wholly pure
In any case
Heaven chooses post bane
Choice
Where’d you rather be
Gander at easy escape
Following are your choices
What will you take
One is out of question
The other open to debate
Either make this your heaven
Or for heaven itself wait
Stop the ****** clamant
The choice is yours to make.
Jul 27, 2012
Jul 27, 2012 at 3:48 AM UTC
With fickle Freddy Frosts first showing
and the rising of ******* and
limbs fine tactile hairs, laguna,
filaments of sensation *****
quivering and striving
stretching toward a now absent warmth,
she always did have her sunny side showing, bare legs tucked under her
buttocks, leaning back on her hands
under that big Totara tree, face tilting
skyward and sandals kicked aside,
searching out her brighter sunny day
even now, with leaves falling down
the autumnal mix of ambers
Loamy greens and wooded browns
the earth cool and damp underfoot
her naked legs, arms defiant, barely crying for freedom!
Shivered morn's and eve's descend quickly
winters first indicators bringing
a refusal to employ blankets
hope tightly clinging to summers
silk sheets from Portugal,
feather light, soft as air,
just how she likes her thread count
high and expensive, sumptous,
(her pedantic obsession with fine linens)
totally ineffectual as calefactor,
so, she shivers on stubborn as ever,
Stay summer! Stay!
Even her loyal steadfast cicadas
have fallen silent now, summers last guard fallen to shortened days
and longer lonelier cool nights,
it is now she starts to miss a warm body
companionship, a worthy bedfellow
one who will not protest her cold toes
vicious advances on their warmer flesh
The sacrifice well worth the reward
of her warmest, ardent affections
tender embraces and softly spoken
murmurings of love and passion,
her full surrender to your body
with hers, she gives good, good love,
both body and mined soul deep too.
The countdown to clocks pushed onwards
pulls a wustful sigh from blueish lips
she is underdressed, flimsy chiffon
on a day made for heavier cloths
persists with summer daydreaming
of warm strong hands restoring her joy
under cold nights cloaked bed covers,
hot stolen kisses from a winter lover.
J.C. "littlebird" 05/04/2019.
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 5:19 PM UTC
The lips that touch upon my brow
Leave nothing but regret.
Not for who, or what, we were;
But for what we always forget.
The feelings we have are palpable,
Graspable by shame.
Not the shame for what we felt,
But for our sins all the same.
Our hands meet as a final depart,
Our eyes unable to touch.
The story between us sits unspoken,
Voicing it would express too much.
Apathy, in your eyes, runs rampant.
Empathy, in my soul, runs dry.
The ineffectual affection stills,
Leading us, the silent, awry.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 9:46 AM UTC
Patience leads & boredom breads into the waiting game
My mind it ponders, lightly wonders out of view from the
Ineffectual teachings, impotent reaching trying to move toward me
I'm faking writing, simply minding words that have no meaning
Patiently, violently, waiting here silently
watching the clock tick slower than ever
Patiently, violently, waiting here silently
watching the clock tick slower than ever
Lights exceed, these words they breath but I couldn't care less if they're dead
Time it slows, colliding with the, the words that jump over my head
I'm gradually sleeping, unconsciously leaping away from the struggles that be
My mind is in clarity, dreaming my heresy, hoping to leave & to leave
Patiently, violently, waiting here silently
watching the clock tick slower than ever
Patiently, violently, waiting here silently
watching the clock tick slower than ever
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 8:16 PM UTC