"infuriated" poems
I sit here on the 2nd floor
hunched over in yellow
pajamas
still pretending to be
a writer.
some ****** gall,
at 71,
my brain cells eaten
away by
life.
rows of books
behind me,
I scratch my thinning
hair
and search for the
word.
for decades now
I have infuriated the
ladies,
the critics,
the university
suck-toads.
they all will soon have
their time to
celebrate.
"terribly overrated..."
"gross..."
"an aberration..."
my hands sink into the
keyboard
of my
Macintosh,
it's the same old
con
that scraped me
off the streets and
park benches,
the same simple
line
I learned in those
cheap rooms,
I can't let
go,
sitting here
on this 2nd floor
hunched over in yellow
pajamas
still pretending to be
a writer.
the gods smile down,
the gods smile down,
the gods smile down.
Black Sparrow "New Year's Greeting" 1992
8.6k
Infuriated doesn't come close when listening to the words you spout
You are so special in every way I could feel the need, I had to say
If you don't go away I'll strangle you with your mum's **** beads
Now where that came from left me at a loss, but he shut up and buggered off.
Probably gone home to check what else his mum has hidden under her bed!
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 9:59 AM UTC
Incapacitated, infuriated,
In doldrums.
Cardiac explosions,
Waterfall eyes.
You are
My downfall.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 2:10 PM UTC
I’m fine, thanks…
Is that what you truly mean?
Or do you mean
I’m tired…
I’m lonely…
I’m hurt…
Confused. Bewildered. Angered.
Disillusioned…
Skeptical…
Or maybe
I’m distressed…
I’m woeful…
I’m pathetic…
Lost. Vulnerable.
Infuriated…
Empty. Lifeless. Crushed. Tortured. Dejected. Offended. Afflicted.
Desolate. Desperate. Rejected. Heartbroken…
Tormented…
I’m scared…
I’m disgruntled…
Embarrassed…
Weak. Dreadful. Hungry. Aggravated.
Guilty… Shameful… Frustrated… Jealous… Horrified…
Overwhelmed…
Devastated…
Defeated…
Is fine ever what you truly mean?
Or is it a cover?
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 3:57 PM UTC
The Gospel. Not an easy message to state or hear. Who wants to repent? Hardly anyone these days. Who wants to believe in a God who many believe irrelevant to modern life? Hmmm?
A God who preordained a Messiah who tells people they must DIE TO LIVE. Well. That's the message. Luke 14. Look it up. Jesus has attracted thousands of followers. He turns to them and says YOU must hate your mom, dad, sis, bro... everyone! YOU MUST DIE TO THIS WORLD TO LIVE!
They must pick up their cross and follow him. Thousands left. All who remained were twelve men. Jesus asked if THEY also wanted to go. They said, NO. You alone hold eternal life.
Folks, I LOVE YOU. So i am simply going to say this...
REPENT. BELIEVE. TRUST.
That's all God asks. He wants to reconcile you, A SINNER, to Himself. YOU ALL ARE NOT RIGHTEOUS. Only Jesus, who was born of a ****** NEVER SINNED IN HIS LIFE, preached the Good News of the Kingdom so boldly he infuriated a lot of self- righteous people, was brutally beaten, then crucified, DEAD. BURIED. ROSE AGAIN ON THE THIRD DAY TO A NEW LIFE. He CAN take your place as sinful flesh, so YOU can GAIN HIS RIGHTEOUSNESS. Only then can you be reconciled to a Righteous God.
I'm saying all this because
I LOVE YOU.
I just died today. Care to join me?
♡ Catherine
Sep 1, 2017
Sep 1, 2017 at 3:47 AM UTC
***
Way to fleece…
A taxpayer
They’ve got us singing the blues
And we’re not down for all that jazz*… leave that to the Sax player
We remain mind boggled by these selfish ‘leaders’
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again… ‘Dude! Way to bleed us!’
We’re already scraping the floor for crumbs… are they trying to run our finances into the ground?
“You work for us you pompous ********** it’s not the other way around...”
Midnight meetings in secretive silence
We preferred it when their nonsense made a sound
We’re ashamed and infuriated
But what makes it worse is that we’re not surprised
It’s like they strive to be truly hated… and yes, they've gotten themselves despised
More and more by the day
As each day goes by
We would throw them all out if we could
And our actions would be understood
Unfortunately we can’t do this for they are skilled at defiance
Masters of political science
And at it they are that good
Liars
Cheats
The campaigning politician...
Seducing us with deceit when he comes out on the street
To make his energetic speech
And then...
The elected Member of Parliament...
Only campaigns for his financial gain
Once he’s assured that for a whole term his position is permanent
That’s where they've slipped up, and I thought they were a smart lot
Schemious at least
Such a wrong move in an election year
Do they not fear… getting dropped by the voter?
Two hundred and twenty four MP’s… dead weight in deep water
And can’t swim
Should they have asked for my advice prior, I would have told them to simply cease and desist
“Do not dive in…”.
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 3:53 AM UTC
Up went the roar of the crowd,
Ascending, volumes above, beyond
The everyday murmur of pestering silence.
A futile struggle to withstand its force,
Like a vast wave, rogue and raging,
Slamming nature, a slap in the face of feebleness,
This crowd roars…
Not anger, not anguish, or grief,
But a prideful scream of declaration;
The masses make it known, and known again,
Fists raised, pulverizing the air to a beat
Of human design, of togetherness, of solidarity
In the fight for those like us, a howl,
This crowd roars…
Stampeding feet berate the beaten earth,
Invigorated legs supporting pounding hearts,
To a beat, rolling with the flow,
Energy infusing the soul, encased in flesh, bone, and blood;
Marching onward, forward, processional strides
Declaring and making it known with battle cries,
This crowd roars…
Shouts of proclamation echo the strident resistance
With thunder, earth-quaking, walls crumbling, chains shattering
With thunder, dancing against the discordant system;
Proud warriors raising flags of protest
Amidst the roar, roister, and riots, rising reactionaries
Refusing submission, declining resignation,
This crowd roars…
Bounded together, by blood, by common cause,
Mingling masses of forgotten arise with a vocal
Outcry, intense, pulsing from the core (of us)
Like an infestation, infuriated, a torrent swarm (of us)
Flowing upwards, eroding all obstructions.
Declare, proclaim, announce, request, demand,
This crowd roars…
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 12:31 AM UTC
I'm extremely frustrated
It's difficult to explain
As well as infuriated,
but why complain?
Friendship deteriorated
And ended in pain
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 6:07 PM UTC
Ever get that feeling where there's so much to say
But then you pick up your pen and bring out your notebook
And you just sit there, and fail to write what it is you even wanted to say?
That's how I feel whenever I write about you
And it's so discouraging because it seems that there is so much flowing through my mind whenever I fail to keep my thoughts anywhere else but you.
It's because she is everything
All that goes on in my head before writing even one line is simply just you
Those booming voices, blissful delusions, ignorant realizations, unwelcome ****** recollections of long-ago, humorous admiration,
It's because she is everything
Yes, you are everything.
Everything I think about, everything I dream about, everything I talk about, everything I write about, everything
And I really don't think that that's fair, my love.
That is why I strive to be your everything.
Yes, I want to be the one that creates those booming voices in your head
I want to be the one that makes you have those blissful delusions
I want to be the one that initiates you to make those ignorant realizations
I want to be the one that brings those unwelcome ****** recollections of long-ago
to you
And I can go on and on about everything that just the thought of you does to me
But I dare not waste your time any longer
Because the way I feel could be sufficiently expressed in any moment-no matter if I'm miserable, infuriated, ecstatic, or anything- by just two words.
You're everything
And I bet that that's the reason why at times it seems there's so much to say, when in reality there really isn't a need for it.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
Relationship is like a bouquet,
Love is the real fragrance,
Just like marigolds and roses,
The religions are the same,
Just like Vedas and Moses,
Miles of smiles sewn together,
Just like starry heavenly poses.
Still flowers fade one day,
Same about the love I felt,
Wild flowers don't need care,
Wild love won't require care,
Mine couldn't be as true,
A judgment was passed.
It wasn't passed by you.
It was passed by people,
The people around you,
You were manipulated,
They infuriated you finally,
Inside I knew it'll be failed,
No I do not blame you,
I know how cursed I am.
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC
The Apostle Paul was a saint but he was a sinner in the beginning.
He killed Jesus's followers and Jesus struck him blind for sinning.
After Jesus sent Ananias to restore Paul's sight, Paul changed his evil ways.
He vowed to be Jesus's Apostle and preach the gospel for the rest of his days.
Paul began preaching that Jesus is our savior.
Some people became infuriated by his behavior.
They planned to have Paul put to death.
He was warned about this and he left.
After leaving, he continued to preach the gospel and made tents for a living.
Even though Paul was a former murderer, Jesus knew that he was worth forgiving.
Paul was worthy of forgiveness and so are today's sinners.
If people put an end to their sinful ways, they can be winners.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 1:39 PM UTC
there is an owl
out there
somewhere
in the darkness
kept secret
by whispering trees
shrouded
in shadow
by leaf
and cloud
it seems
to have a question
for any
who will listen
politely
but persistently
it inquires
pausing briefly
awaiting
an answer
before asking
again
and again;
whether intended
or not
this interrogation
has infuriated
the old boy
and seemingly
every other canine
in the vicinity
Sep 15, 2022
Sep 15, 2022 at 10:43 AM UTC
A family is at the dinner table. The son asks the father, “Dad, how many kinds of ***** are there?” The father, surprised, answers, “Well, son, a woman goes through three phases. In her 20s, a woman’s ******* are like melons, round and firm. In her 30s and 40s, they are like pears, still nice, hanging a bit. After 50, they are like onions.” “Onions?” the son asks. “Yes. You see them and they make you cry.” This infuriated his wife and daughter. The daughter asks, “Mom, how many different kinds of ******* are there?” The mother smiles and says, “Well, dear, a man goes through three phases also. In his 20s, his ***** is like an oak tree, mighty and hard. In his 30s and 40s, it’s like a birch, flexible but reliable. After his 50s, it’s like a Christmas tree.” “A Christmas tree?” the daughter asks. “Yes, dead from the root up and the ***** are just for decoration..lmao
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 12:36 AM UTC
I learned that my ex wife was unfaithful when she gave birth to a baby who is black.
I was stunned and so infuriated at her that I came very close to giving her a smack.
My ex best friend is the baby's dad.
His betrayal really made me mad.
I should've realized what was going on but I was a fool.
I beat the hell out of him because what he did was cruel.
My ex begged me to forgive her and to help her raise the baby as my own.
I packed my things and walked out the door and now that ***** is all alone.
While she was pregnant, I was very happy because I thought the baby was mine.
That **** had a lot of nerve, she broke our wedding vows because she's a swine.
The love that I once felt for her was something I savored.
I was faithful to that witch but she didn't return the favor.
Infidelity is the one thing that I can't forgive.
I'll despise that woman for as long as I live.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 5:24 PM UTC
The sun, on his return,
briskly moved to the western horizon,
a red cloud thanked him
for his shimmering parting gift,
a songbird enamored,
tweeted with happy abandon:
"Wow! can't take my eyes off,
what a perfection, I am impressed"
The sun, gently smiled,
didn't pretend, he heard, those words.
Darkness, infuriated
chased the bird away scolding,
"keep quiet, you brat,
don't disturb, the sun's meditation!"
Then, spreads the stillness,
no bird is at sight,
even winds and waves,
stood with bated breath.
The purple sun, inch by inch
descended to the seabed.
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 1:35 PM UTC
The boy was too brooding.
I think he did it to impress me
and to make me think he was mysterious
but all it did was leave me empty.
The boy was too handsome.
He was the type of guy who could roll
right out of bed and look perfectly perfect
and it infuriated me.
The boy was too athletic.
His muscles never failed to show
themselves from underneath his tops
and it made me self-conscious.
The boy was too quiet.
He wanted to prove that he'd listen to
what I had to say so he'd stare right at me silently
with eyes that pierced my soul like a knife.
At first glance, he was flawless.
He had the qualities I always thought I wanted:
Mysterious, Perfect, Muscles, Listening Skills.
Really, I just wanted someone like the actors on TV.
But that's just what they are: actors.
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 3:09 PM UTC
Caught in the middle, push -pull-
ugh ! it's all the same.
I saw you grow into who you are.
Enraged as I am, I cannot begin to comprehend
why.
I called you Friend.
and yet You stand before me, careless.
Oh how the mighty have fallen,
how the noble have swindled.
it's a Shame really.
Betrayal is not a fit word to suit your heinous acts.
I trusted you- to think i even dared to.
the frustration, the rage; it boils so ravenously.
Going down with your ship once again,
to carry Your Fault.
a comfy front row seat on the S.S. Pessimism.
bring out the Artillery, this means war.
to stand up and see eye to eye with you,
or to take another blow, and swallow my hurt pride?
hurling at an insane speed flies your words against my now other wise
infuriated Spirt,
to dance with a tampered soul is unwise, my friend.
you looked at innocence, and treated it like a joke.
you go stain your hands with filth from god knows where
and then return arms wide open, " I have done no wrong," you say.
Guns At the ready and eyes Locked on you,
but now...
What to trust; to expect from you is just another step closer to
your lies.
so desperately do i want to help you.
I do. but i no longer can look at you the
same way.
Grenades in hand.
if you could be cold and heartless, then this should
be no problem for you sweetness.
come dance with the same bullets you fired at me.
Steady, Aim, Fire.
Dragging me down- i don't think so.
No.
Not this time.
the Abyss can expect other visitors.
Bring out the Artillery.
all because of You...
..Boom.
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 3:05 PM UTC
dolorimetry
n. The measurement of pain sensations
How do you measure pain?
a gasp
a step or two
away
from someone whose
world used to
revolve around you
a tear
a sigh
a stretch of arms
that used to wrap
a soul so tender and warm.
How do you measure pain?
a stomp
a slap
a finger pointed like
a gun or a dagger
on your chest—
accusing
complaining
tired, frustrated
infuriated.
How do you measure pain?
the distance
from A to Z
a tick of clock
a grain of sand
blown by the wind
a drop of blood
from a blade-stricken wrist.
How do you measure pain?
a smile
a laugh
a response telling
them you’re fine
but hell, you’re not.
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 7:37 PM UTC
I woke up in the morning only this day,
from an infuriated dream,
where I have been for years, I think.
A dream where the smiles smiled for every truth,
and the cries cried for every lose.
In that place, love will be the one to seek,
hearts and minds always coordinate,
like it was you and I, remember?
There is no such thing as, “edges of forever”,
memories will never be cold as fire,
and revenge, yes, revenge is beautiful,
like it was you and I, remember?
It was a pure and vivid imagery
of a perfect world,
to where we want to go together,
a world far from what was ours,
a world with which hatred never remains
after death comes alive.
But I still woke up.
Then I looked at the window,
and remember,
that even how many times I tried to hide
and close my eyes in order to go there,
we could never be back
in each other’s arms again,
for you used to believe in the morning.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 12:19 AM UTC
When did we call become so
Infuriated by the rain
and the sunshine
Impatient to run
and wait in line
Insecure of space
and empty time
In days where the end
was made by the farmer's hand
pinching the flame out
There were only rows
the sun and rain made
over a season grow
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 4:08 PM UTC
If I was Happy the color I would wear would be Yellow.
If I was Sad the color I would wear would be Blue.
If I was In Love the color I would wear would be Red.
If I was Jealous the color I would wear would be Green.
If I was Infuriated the color I would wear would be Orange.
If I was Embarrassed the color I would wear would be Pink.
If I was Proud the color I would wear would be Purple.
If I was Depressed the color I would wear would be Black.
These are the colors of my Mood.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 6:57 PM UTC
Bucket List
By Harriet-Tecumsah Watt
**What's left when it's done
No more to cross off with glee
No more to choose from**
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/648367/bucket-list
~~~~~~~
never write angry,
wise counsel for most,
but not this holy ****** off
poet~person
I am your bucket,
I am on your list,
or I better be,
and don't be thinking,
my dearest poetess,
that you are all done,
till we meet in the park,
ass-freezing,
beneath the Golden Gate Bridge.
You, my Hamlet,
always questioning and
annoyingly annoying
keeping me ego-honest,
Ergo
you are on my
the toppiest ten of my numerous
bucket list
of lists,
and I ain't crossing you off,
no way, no how.
Word-slapping your face,
frustrated and infuriated,
Watt is left for needy me
in a world with no
rhymeslut
broke, busted, disgusted,
life can't be trusted,
so take your disruptive crying poetry,
bring to me in NYC,
and I'll take you to poetry slams,
tango parties, a real Chinatown,
blow smoke up your nose, Waltz step on your toes,
drink with you in Central Park at five am,
visit half a dozen museums,
take you to the ballet,
and then you can maybe,
cross a few to-do's
off of our mutual
intersections.
write poem lines together alternately,
hell, even post-modern alternatively,
if that is watt it takes to slap the
Most Uncommon Sensibity
into a woman asking an
A+ stupid question
you are one of gods most
hauntingly lovely gifts
to me,
and I ain't giving you back,
NFW
No-red-me-likey-heart for
Watt's "I'm All Done Bucket List" poem,
just me bucking the trend,
just a lightening bolt to send
up your sorry-for-me ***
and a private, tender,
missive.
I'll come to you if you feeling blue,
but
get this straight my Indian chief-girl,
no matter where or when,
you better have yourself
Sequoia tree hugging me,
list unchecked,
and not till then
can we toss,
our lists,
in the trash bucket
they belong in.
Am I clear?
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 6:03 PM UTC
We've all heard about the site 'Ask.fm' where people anonymously ask each other questions, be it about their personal life or just for fun. I recently joined this site just to see what kind of questions people ask and how people react to such questions. But one answer really infuriated me.
A person was asked to describe his country (India) in 3 words. He replied saying 'Cricket. **** Corruption'. Now I understand the frustration a normal Indian faces everyday regarding the growing cases of **** and corruption. But why insult your own country on a public forum knowing fully well that the person sending the question might just be from a different country? Is this the picture we want to give others about India? We should be proud to be Indians and should talk highly of our country. This brings me to my next point.
I hear a number of Indians, specially students, criticizing the country and saying that they want to leave it. It bothers me that educated Indians themselves have no will to help develop their own country. India cannot grow until the people want to make it grow. Unfortunately, people, including me, have been influenced too much by the western culture. We see America and all we want is to live in a country as 'classy' and developed as America. Why don't we think even once that if we leave, how will our country flourish? It is the people who form a country, not the government and not the old politicians. I am not implying that all of us should join politics and run the country. But the least we can do is lead it to the path of development in the best possible way we know.
Charity begins at home. Our home is India and we are Indians. Running away from this fact won't change it.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
The Story of Love
A long time back, when
Vices and Virtues were,
Young, playful, and inexperienced.
They had made a game of which,
None wished to ever remember.
Long forgotten in the span of time.
There was once a story of,
How Love had gone blind.
In this tale, it spoke,
How those friends were caught in,
The boredom which Idle Time bestowed.
In nature’s garden, they lounged,
Until the music of,
Silent minds had,
Riled Impatience twitchy thoughts.
“We should play a game,
Of Hide and Seek.” he said.
“What’s that?” Madness asked.
Impatience smiled as he explained,
The rules of the game,
Of how they would play.
“Everyone hides where ever they like,
But there will be one that will seek.”
“Sounds fun!” Madness thought.
“I’d be ‘it’.” He suddenly said.
Vices and Virtues went to hide,
As Madness counted,
The grains of sand on the river side.
Envy hid between, the clouds to watch,
Wishing she had a better spot.
Anger hid under a rock to think.
His face as hard as that thing.
Laziness laid on his bed to sleep,
Caring little if he was caught.
Patience sat behind the leaves,
Together with Tolerance he hid,
Amongst the trees.
Secrets stayed below,
Hidden in the Lakes,
Clouded by a shadowed face.
Vanity cloaked herself in,
The reflection of shiny things.
Love hid behind,
The white rose bush,
Of which she liked.
There she lingered for some time.
In time, Madness had forgot,
Why he counted the grains of sand.
So he searched every where but,
Was unable to find anyone.
In hopelessness, he glanced,
Up and found,
Envy’s sinister face
Peering through the clouds.
“Found you!” he declared.
For he knew he was right.
Infuriated that she was the first,
She gave him her brother’s site.
Anger turned cold,
In sight of,
His sister’s mocking laugh.
In his head he knew,
Someone had to pay,
A pair of eyes for,
Giving him away.
“Love is in the rose bush.” he said.
“But she wont come out till,
You stab her to death.”
Devoid of thought Madness believed.
With a pitch fork he charged,
Yelling madly for Love.
Wildly he stabbed until,
White roses turned red.
In her piercing scream, he stopped.
As she crawled out of her hiding spot.
Blood dripped down her face.
Madness knew it was a mistake.
He begged for her forgiveness and
Apologized. “What can I do for you,
To make it up to you?” He asked.
“Be my guide,” she said.
“You can be my eyes.”
And ever since, it was said that,
Love was blind.
And Madness always had,
Guided Love.
-Vas Bismark
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC