"infuriate" poems
Señor Garcia Marquez
Whatever did you mean
When you wrote of life
And of death by family
I'm in love with
Prudencio Aguilar's ghost
Roaming about the Buendía household
Hole in his throat
Washing out the wound
But what did you mean?!
I'm in love with
Do it yourself chastity belts
And Ursula's fear of ***
But why is this even a theory
Your concept behind biracial inbreeding
And Señor do not get me started
On Melquíades and José Arcadio Buendía
Because that friendship was
Fated to be doomed
I mean no disrespect in all this
I just want to know
Why use Macondo as an allegory
For the Angel Gabriel
You're genius, really
But your run on paragraphs
Infuriate every ounce of my writing soul
You're a Columbian Tolstoy
I mean that as no insult
Your works are tremendous and outstanding
But what am I doing
You're now just an old dead man
"Under the ground"
So now I belong to figure out
Why Pilar needs to fill a void
Opened by a ******
And why Colonel Aureliano Buendía
Thinks of his fond memory of ice
Just before being killed
I've paid my respects to your work
Please pay respects to my search
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 3:57 PM UTC
Fire is only hot to the touch so I watch the flames flip around like ladies coming out of water and throwing their hair out of their eyes.
And I watch the colors infuriate the grass beneath, for being so bright and making that green so dull. And I watch the heat that I cannot feel
The temperature only visible mentally
So for a while I pretend it’s cold
Because I can
And for a minute I pretend it’s wet, so if I had stuck my hand inside
I would not burn to black
But become glazed in red water
And maybe it would taste of coconut or something similar
So that if I licked my hand
I’d enjoy it because of my liking of coconut
And while I’m at it
I pretend the entire world is completely different
And my mind is finally at ease
Until I’m called into the tent to sleep and the snore of my friend brings me back to where I am
And what I’m really doing
And how the world really is
Apr 17, 2011
Apr 17, 2011 at 3:30 PM UTC
at your own peril!
*dare to vex
provoke, antagonize, exasperate
that is what my words will do
they won't irritate or annoy,
bug or merely peeve,
a simple bother
insufficient
vex
your core,
demand
that you more
than mere question yourself
but riptide extracts the
elemental,
battery acid on the essence bared
learn the power of crafting words
for maximum effect
torment, infuriate,
expose yourself,
what has lain beneath the skin,
you will let me in,
to let you out
why play with poetry,
the most dangerous weapon
unless you nakedly intend to*
!dare to vex!
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
Driving Ms. Daisy
Absolutely drives me crazy.
Many a driver have come and vanished by noon.
Her cruel words are nothing but her ****** armour.
People hate her,
and she appears to love it.
Petite old Ms Daisy,
seems like she’ll forever be alone.
Today she asked of me to drive faster,
“I want to feel the wind against my face.
Take it up a notch”, she said.
“12miles/per hour,” she wailed.
Snub the rooster and wax the pole,
driving Ms Daisy is slow.
Really slow.
At times I fear that the machine may fail,
That the engine may even stop from being so frail.
Taking Ms Daisy someplace is like going nowhere,
because you aren’t moving enough to arrive anywhere.
Yesterday was the worst day ever;
her constant yelling and biting remarks
that only aimed to infuriate.
But Ms Daisy is always classy.
Her proud air of 16th century British Royalty.
Even her perfumed handkerchiefs spell eloquence.
But still, one day I wish she’ll suffer a heart attack,
Or maybe a mild stroke.
But then I wonder out loud,
“Who else will hire me and pay me this load?”
I may moan and rumble
but I am forever stuck with Ms Daisy.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 2:32 PM UTC
I go to great heights to prove myself
Anger is kept inside, it is too personal for the world's eyes
I exercise caution with each interaction
My presence is barely felt
A gentle reminder that life is not always gentle
I am a pronoun in the vast language of people
Many worries can eat away at a heart, so I choose just one
I am an incarnation of an idea that even I cannot pinpoint
My intention is to be happy
I shudder at the cliche
I am not conservative, although I may seem that way
It is an attempt to blend in
Complications, bumps in the road
These frustrate, even infuriate, me
I require absolutes. Uncertainty destroys
Robot life would be magical
Emotion is for the weak
I try not to preach, only listen
Ideas are nothing more than words strung together
These strings become puzzles for your enjoyment
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 7:06 PM UTC
I stand in line,
I can conform,
It is a must.
That's okay because I can conform but not forget myself.
I can play their game,
but I can still be me.
I can still be unique!
I can still have my opinion even in uniform.
My will to conform dose not become who I am,
But it shows in my character.
I am able to look different ways without getting a crick in my neck.
Others choices about their lives don't infuriate me.
Others lives are their own,
Not mine,
Not yours,
So why dose that make your opinion or others law.
It doesn't,
but if it was you wouldn't be you,
I wouldn't be me.
We would be all the same.
I can conform but the way other doesn't hurt me,
It's apart of them so why should I make that apart of me or me apart of them.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 8:37 AM UTC
Wordless my inferior stance yells to be heard
Wheeling the throe of malice to infuriate
The thwarted truth to expose itself, as deterred
Blows, cower the truth in drier misstate
Justifying tears that cascade the willowed floor
Dwelling my eyes to Illusions in a bid to recall blissful memories,
Thus allowing my heart’s pleas to implore
The day after tomorrow to pacify my tearful cries
Wandering the pits of my darkened incarceration
My voice threatened to silence, by my bleeding furrows,
As my life thwarts forward, perplexed by the sanguine
Moat that had been conceived by those endless blows
Dealing my words, to the fatalities dwelling in fear,
Fear no more for as long as you have a voice there will be an ear to hear
Jun 16, 2010
Jun 16, 2010 at 3:33 AM UTC
When I think of the sun at night,
of how it is a flashlight turned on to help us see throughout the day,
or how during Summer Solstice the sun is fully charged.
As time goes on, it slowly runs out of batteries and its light gets dimmer,
when it hits the Autumnal Equinox, it has half its battery life left.
Winter Solstice is when it is just about to run out of energy, but doesn’t.
It hangs onto the last bit of energy it can without giving up, with hope it will recharge, not knowing if it will.
Then finally it begins charging, slowly gaining more battery life until the Summer Solstice marks that it is fully charged and when it can continue living without worrying that it will die.
With the help of the Sun’s day schedule the, Moon can create and follow its own.
When I look into the dark, mysterious night sky covered by the clouds, there is nothing left to see except the luster of the full moon.
The moon is like an eye, looking through a keyhole at what lies behind the dark door.
I say I would wonder what it would be like,
being the moon,
looking down at everyone, slowly fading each night, into its own kind of sleep,
such a deep sleep, that even if it was the clearest of skies, its light would not show,
not even a sliver of light shining in the dark,
to leave nothing but the stars out in the open to be seen.
I lie in bed at night,
falling asleep,
thinking of what I may dream about,
Wondering if the moon dreams too.
The moon.
The glowing orb in the sky that illuminates our surroundings.
The thought of the moon sparks something that makes me think of the ocean tide, water, and waves.
The waves.
The cool, crisp, salty waves always crashing on the sandy shore.
When I think of waves, I don’t just think of water.
Instead I think of the feelings behind them.
What if the waves showed how the ocean felt?
When there are a few calm waves the ocean could be happy.
When it has a lot of waves it could be excited, upset, or jealous.
If we infuriate the ocean it shows its anger with its salty, drowning waves, very tall.
And when low tide comes rolling in,
the ocean craves more water due to dehydration.
When the high tide arrives,
its thirst is quenched.
That’s why you don’t mess with the ocean.
Go with the flow,
treat it with respect,
don’t throw your trash in it,
because if you don’t know,
you won’t be able to control the ocean,
because it has a mind of its own.
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 9:02 AM UTC
I told myself I liked peace
but the chaos is exhilarating.
I run from problems to let the animosity build.
I keep quiet to infuriate.
I plant myself in equations where my presence isn’t wanted.
Anger fuels the quiet
Words drench the flames
Jul 19, 2019
Jul 19, 2019 at 11:44 PM UTC
Come, scream my name as I fly down the hall
chattering like a bird, my hair soaring like wings.
You can see me.
I pretend not to notice the world, even though I do.
It's just easier this way.
I spot you on the stairs,
Just a glimpse and my veins turn to ice,
rooting me to the spot.
You infuriate me and criticize my every word.
If I were a Jane Austen character, I might find you irritating.
I might find you slightly jerkish.
I would certainly not find you endearingly charming.
I certainly don't see you as such, where did you get such a ridiculous idea?
You're just a possibility, a marked-out one at that.
Not yet real enough to hazard a guess.
All I know is you're different from anything I've ever encountered:
A peacock in Antarctica,
A shaft of sunlight in an attic,
A diving stick in the shallow end,
Coffee, drunk black, when the barrista serves me creamer
and all I wanted was a taste of it undiluted and strong.
All I know is one day, I'll look outside my bubble and up the stairs
and there you will be.
I won't look away.
You won't either.
Then my face will turn the color of tomato soup,
I will find it becoming increasingly more difficult to breathe,
and everyone's eyes will pierce through me like tissue paper.
I will fly down the hall, chattering
chattering like a bird in a cage.
I will pretend not to notice the world.
I will pretend not to notice you pretending not to notice me.
It's just easier that way.
Dec 22, 2009
Dec 22, 2009 at 6:13 PM UTC
I unravel as I unfold
The layers of youth
Go so untold
I handle your soul with the tips of my fingers
Holding your heart as it falls into a million little parts
Let go face the truth
Own your voice and what is real
Why forsake what you deserve?
The question is forgotten and we get left behind
Then my insides will scream
Not to be divine
Devastate
Tolerate
Infuriate
Procasinate it's what you do
Apr 20, 2012
Apr 20, 2012 at 9:23 PM UTC
It's budding intensely. A waking flower in the mist that you are.
That's all.
But it's not your prose, it's not your rhyme, it's not the melodies you sing or the wrongs you right...
There you are again... You Penetrate me, Dominate me, intoxicate me infuriate me elate meholdmeandleavemeobsessmeandthrillmeasifall d e e per a n d d e e p e r into that ever familiar loop of how to reach you again, but it's not your prose, it's not your rhyme, it's not the melodies you sing or the wrongs you right. It's your infinite presence. A taste of eternity always drips from your lips. Your silky hands upon my hips; you, always at my fingertips.
The future is filled with loud dreams and bright sounds, the past with silent screams and thorny bounds-- but you
.
...
!
?
,
The **** subtlety which you exude; A raw glimpse of infinity in the ****
Jul 27, 2010
Jul 27, 2010 at 8:01 PM UTC
I cannot formulate the words I want to convey
I want to say that I'm frustrated
I want to say that I'm impatient
I want to say that I'm being crushed with a workload
But that is not enough
The tremble of my flesh aches from inside my skin and out
I feel the tension flowing through my bones as if they were a calming drug gone wrong
A drug meant to infuriate
A drug meant to devour your hope from inside out
And it's sad to say that I've been feeling this for so long
I hardly carry any of that gift that many speak of
The gift of contentedness that wobbles upon your shoulders as thin as air
That keeps you calm and serene, floating above
The rest of the people who are swimming satisfied in their own misery
As for me
I am drowning
Drowning under air, drowning under an imaginary pile of feelings and emotions
And things that I refuse to think about or even acknowledge
I sometimes pretend that I have no heart at all
I watch all the others around me banter and fall
I stay clinging to the hope I don't have
To keep myself safe
I am not safe
What is safe?
Secure?
Content?
The actual definition varies from flesh to fresh
I have not found my definition yet
But I know it's not this
Then why,
Why do I cling so tightly to the hope I do not possess?
In hopes of keeping myself in a tranquil, loveless, rest?
Yes
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 12:56 PM UTC
You infuriate me.
There. I said it.
I want you to disappear.
But you won't.
And somehow I just can't seem to make you.
You're in my photos.
You're still trampling uninvited through my thoughts.
There are still traces of you in my bed.
And sometimes if I fall too far into my memories I can still feel your body pressed against mine.
These are the parts of you that linger.
They are the parts that have stuck to me.
They have worked themselves into my puzzle.
But to my dismay, those are not all of the pieces to your puzzle.
There are gaping holes and backwards parts.
There are those shadows that you so carefully hid... the ones that I so carelessly fell into.
They are the ones that take me down and thrash me about.
And somehow I still find myself trying to fit us together.
But some parts of that puzzle would never fit.
Leaving our faults all too glaringly lit.
And when this all comes to it's inevitable end, I'll welcome the horribly empty feeling of being right.
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 11:22 PM UTC
Sitting here, pen in hand.
Waiting for my next idea to land.
Pictures and moments flying around my mind.
And now their true emphasis has weakened; split, only leaving shards and fragments behind.
Then crash, an idea hits.
For a while, it simmers, it sits.
All of a sudden, my thoughts take a turn.
All new routes, I try to learn.
I endeavour to permanently mark or burn.
Everything that enters, I wish to keep; I yearn.
And yet.
Sadly, it is almost inevitable or unavoidable that the human mind will deteriorate.
Forget.
While the other faculties may, at present remain unaffected the loss of this once automatic function is bound to frustrate.
Day-to-day life, it does now only serve to complicate.
To infuriate.
Every day a heavy sigh.
I do so deeply cry.
"Why?! Oh why?!"
So cruel of fate to deny.
It no longer seems to matter how hard I try.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
My last boss, the last chain of command
complains and brags about his daughter to others now
not me,
because Friday they will hire my replacement
And he has stopped making eye contact with me, like the other one did a year ago
because why do they treat me so badly and
I'm still a person
And I'd like to walk right up to him and shout in his face that
if he were my father I'd have a lot of problems, too!
And I'd like to tell him as I've been told,
when you've thought of yourself as very intelligent for a very long time
it's hard to let go of it
and he met me, and well, I do not lack in that category
in sanity, perhaps
I want to scream and tell them all my most honest thoughts and have them listen
especially him, my last boss
But he will never listen to me, I'm told
My thoughts infuriate him
They run around his thoughts and lap them
and that is unacceptable
So every day I notice, every day, is a fresh form of torture
and appreciation
and no eye contact from your enemies,
things could be worse.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 10:03 PM UTC
Poison ivy covers the fences holding hedges of rose. Thorny roses with poisoned tips caress the lover's cheek. Blood mixes with the ivy, a bond to last. The rose's scent still makes the lover heedy and the thorns don't matter. The poison ivy does nothing to infuriate the lover. And love only blossoms, as the ivy climbs and the the roses sway.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
No one else
can infuriate me so
and still enrapture
my bleeding heart.
You drive me insane, to
the brink of it. You make me want
to tear out my hair,
or find a crowbar,
and smash in your lights. And
you make me wild
with every motion.
I hate you.
I like you.
I love you.
You magnificent paradox,
you black hole,
you thing that goes bump in
the pitch black night.
I love you.
I tolerate you.
I hate you.
And I'll never forget you.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 12:18 AM UTC
You infuriate me to the point that I
Ball my hands into fiery fists,
And cry a Red Sea into my palms.
You're a ******* parasite,
A virus.
Hell, you're an epidemic;
Infectious.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 10:17 PM UTC
we embrace the tyranny
(it seems the simplest
thing to do!)
simpler than
embracing eachother
we write our future down
on 3 by 5 cards
which we keep hidden
in the back of the closet
so they will not be discovered
by anyone
we preserve our "love life"
in pornographic images
we have pictured
and captured
on our digital cell phones
or on the internet
we know to not infuriate
the tyranny
with claims of our humanity
we have "wised up"
"it is better to live on your knees
than to die on your feet"
we repeat
incessantly
we have no honor
but what good is honor?
we live in fear and shame
but what is wrong with fear and shame?
nothing
our suffering is eternal
just like thoughts of heaven
we embrace the tyranny
what else can we do?
Jan 21, 2011
Jan 21, 2011 at 10:01 AM UTC
It was all dark before I met you,
and darkness elope me,
and I find myself sinking further,
and further into the abyss where no life would be.
And suddenly,
my world light up like how you are the Sun of which consumes me entirely,
and of the Rain,
as you came in almost immediately.
I would used to think that I have storms raging in me,
a mass of ultimate destruction,
but you clear them away,
and grew flowers in me which you would never pluck even if they are pretty.
I would find myself in the comfort of bittersweet drinks which infuriate my mind,
making me dizzy.
But now, I find myself in your comfort,
you evading my lungs with your cigarette-scented breath,
leaving me hazy.
At 3AM before, insanity would kick in and my demons would rise,
leaving me to suffer in delusions and fear eating me alive,
At 3AM now, I dream of technicolor and your arms wrapped around mine,
reassuringly as you whisper words that cuts my breath.
My inbox mail would usually be empty,
and to be filled up with advertisement and radical nonsense.
It is now filled with messages and poems from you,
of which that I left them be ever since I met you.
Death would often spark a sinful thought,
that the nerves of my brain would always response.
But now ever since you told me you want to live a lifetime with me,
I, too, wish to live a possible lifetime with you.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 9:01 AM UTC
What if I don't
feel anything
worth writing down?
What if I don't
see anything
that penetrates my eye
with beauty?
that infects my mind
with wonder?
What if
nothing happens
in my ordinary day
to inspire
or bewilder
or amuse?
or arouse
or confuse?
or infuriate
or frustrate
or fascinate?
What if it's just
a day?
just like the day before
and the day after
and I feel nothing
nothing worth saying
nothing worth feeling
out loud
no line to express
or wisdom to surmise
with cutesy-clever
patyourselfonthebackforthinkingofitaren'tyouspecial
twists of wordplay
Just a day
And what if I have
nothing to say?
I'll say it anyway
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 4:29 PM UTC
It started of with curiosity
New accents to acquaint to
It moved on to annoyances
Deliberate proddings to infuriate
It turned into fondness
Awkward humour to laugh to
It grew into likeness
A desire of life unquenchable
It strengthened into friendship
Another pair to add to the greats
It infinitized into soulhood
Arm in arm forever to be a joy
We never did things the conventional way. Experiences is all we asked for. Countless memories we were gifted with. Souls merged in an iron friendship to live endlessly
Past present future, it shall go on.
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 10:29 PM UTC
The only thing worse than a boy who hates you, a boy who loves you. So tell me now, if this ain't love then how do we get out? Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. I ought to have been prepared for this. He made me love him without looking at me. I wish I hated him. I do, you frustrate me, confuse me, infuriate me, more than anyone I've ever met. Learning to ignore it will teach you humility. When we first met you seemed fickle and shallow. And that cute, charming little smirk with its tendency to make the person it's directed at grin a little too? Don't even try, I hate that too. But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all. The thing is - and I know this is going to sound strange – that I seem to love you sort of desperately. I feel like finally, there's time to breathe. Can we go back to hating each other now?
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 10:03 AM UTC