"irk" poems
Nosey people annoy me
Pompous people bore me,
Pretentious people irritate me
Whilst drunk people irrigate me.
Opinionated people grate me,
Cheating people forsake me.
Sly people irk me
Lazy people shirk me.
Judgemental people cast me,
Bigoted people blast me.
Most people avoid me!
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC
True equality is what is wished for
But what if you really opened that door
What would be on the other side?
I’m not sure we’d enjoy the ride
Individuality dies with equality
There are no choices you see
If everyone has to have the same things
No one gets to win the brass ring
No more people like you and people like me
If the same is all we ever get to be
The same model car and the same clothes
The same old food in the same homes
The same haircut and the same color
Or we are all clean shaved so much the duller
The same education for everybody
You’re paid the same as anybody
Sports would all end in a tie
If there still played at all… sigh
No more winners, No more losers
No choices so no choosers
There are no differing opinions you see
When you’re a victim of true equality
No reason to strive
There is no ladder to climb
No reward for hard work
Are you feeling the irk?
No matter what, you cannot get ahead
It’s almost as if you are full of lead
But that just it, no ahead to get
When everyone gets what everyone gets
The Thought police are out in full force
No one is married or there is no divorce
No kids at all or everyone has 2
There is no longer me and no longer you
When equal society is the important thing
Everyone gets to feel every sting
Orwellian yes
But truth none the less
The only people different are the ones in charge
While everyone suffers they live it large
They get to decide how much you’re alive
And they can tell you 2+2=5
So how does this strike you?
Will that work for you too?
I’m not a fan
Of this little plan
Because not everyone is the same
No matter what people will claim
We don’t think the same thoughts
We don’t call the same shots
Not even twins are exactly the same
And if we all were, what a boring game
Just a bunch of clones, going nowhere
Just dull and drab, no bling and no flair.
Yet that is what current society prescribes
Even though were all from different tribes
If we ever achieve true equality
Remember sometimes wishes end badly
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 8:19 AM UTC
The quiet was nice before
But now it's starting to irk me.
It echoes with everything I've been avoiding,
this sinister road on the highway to everywhere.
Instead of no where.
At least no where I would be lost..
Infinite space, time and control.
Contradiction?
No.
Stuck in the void means there are no expectations.
Trapped in endless space with only your mind to fill it.
No outside voices, nothing telling you how you should be.
People empower you, want certain things for you, raise you on a pedestal
...You're not even sure you can keep up, to fulfill their desires for you.
But you say nothing...
Keep quiet...
Float to the background.
As you have skillfully done for years.
Take the situation and control it, own it, make it yours.
Force it to produce the outcome that you, only you wish to see.
Recognize that you desire and work to acquire.
Life is too short to make every body happy, but,
Too long to live alone.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 6:27 PM UTC
I am with you
here in this place
scanning with cool
and radiant eyes
Causing silver haired women
to pantomime
The Thing Thats Wrong With Us:
their heads shake
and their thumbs waggle in the air
like worms.
Our thumbs irk them,
patience wearing
thin as their lips.
They are so sad for us,
for our murderous stupidity.
They know
what is wrong:
because our empty carcasses
litter their living rooms
the busses they ride
the classes they teach
slumped
in the seats where we left them.
Heidegger said
that attention creates access to the world,
And we've crept away to the edge
dangling our attentions over the inviting precipice
like the sorcerer's apprentice
unsure
of how it all takes place
but certain
of it’s awesome power.
The well overflows
and we are swept away
as the women look on
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 4:22 AM UTC
I. St. Luke The Painter
Give honour unto Luke Evangelist;
For he it was (the aged legends say)
Who first taught Art to fold her hands and pray.
Scarcely at once she dared to rend the mist
Of devious symbols: but soon having wist
How sky-breadth and field-silence and this day
Are symbols also in some deeper way,
She looked through these to God and was God’s priest.
And if, past noon, her toil began to irk,
And she sought talismans, and turned in vain
To soulless self-reflections of man’s skill,
Yet now, in this the twilight, she might still
Kneel in the latter grass to pray again,
Ere the night cometh and she may not work.
II. Not As These
‘I am not as these are,’ the poet saith
In youth’s pride, and the painter, among men
At bay, where never pencil comes nor pen,
And shut about with his own frozen breath.
To others, for whom only rhyme wins faith
As poets,—only paint as painters,—then
He turns in the cold silence; and again
Shrinking, ‘I am not as these are,’ he saith.
And say that this is so, what follows it?
For were thine eyes set backwards in thine head,
Such words were well; but they see on, and far.
Unto the lights of the great Past, new-lit
Fair for the Future’s track, look thou instead,—
Say thou instead ‘I am not as these are.’
III. The Husbandmen
Though God, as one that is an householder,
Called these to labour in his vine-yard first,
Before the husk of darkness was well burst
Bidding them ***** their way out and bestir,
(Who, questioned of their wages, answered, ‘Sir,
Unto each man a penny:’) though the worst
Burthen of heat was theirs and the dry thirst:
Though God hath since found none such as these were
To do their work like them:—Because of this
Stand not ye idle in the market-place.
Which of ye knoweth he is not that last
Who may be first by faith and will?—yea, his
The hand which after the appointed days
And hours shall give a Future to their Past?
3.9k
I feel like a ****
I feel that Bae is furious
I feel all I do to her is irk
Yet, it still remain curious
Bae says she is far from livid
She says that she never is mad
At points in time I feel timid
I feel like I've done something bad
But still, I remember the blithe times
Although I get worried, she's cute
And although I feel I commit crimes
I know it's just sarcastic, endearing dispute
And so no one is melancholy
I have no reason to be glum
Because there is no felony
Oh, Bae, why am I so dumb? ;P
Bae, you make me so very joyful
I won't forget you till the end of time
I feel utterly greatful
And I'm sorry I have run out of rhymes
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 12:31 AM UTC
I sat on the dentist’s chair
With an aching tooth, feeling hell
The dentist seemed quite pleased
As he opened my mouth and surveyed
‘There are holes to be filled
And the plaque to be removed
It needs a few sittings
At the end, you’ll have a set of fine teeth’!
His gentle assurance was so comforting
And I thought my jaws no more have to suffer
The pangs and torments of an aching tooth!
He then, in a narrow syringe
Injected something into my gum
I knew a numbness creeping in
Until at last I felt a hard rock within
Now, like an expert work man
He began his rigorous craft
Loud machines began to boom
The chair got flattened
From 'verticality'
I got changed into 'horizontality'
And the overhead apparatus came down
Like an eagle swooping down on its prey.
With blaring lights blinding my vision,
I lay torpid as if my body was strapped
The doctor took out his steel and hammer
And started tapping and chipping
Drilling and boring
Though numb, I could still feel the pull and tug
The crooked forceps and pliers
Made all the nerves in my head irk
My mouth was filled with saliva
And I felt a sprout of blood inside
He stuffed some gauze and resumed his work
I wanted to yell, ask him to stop
But being gagged, I couldn’t utter a word
My pupils dilated
My lips quivered
My tongue got parched
I gasped for breath
With a mix of cement and sand (?)
He began filling and plastering
Scrubbing and polishing
Helplessly lying on the dentist’s chair,
I wondered
What whips and stings one has to endure
To end the pain and give the teeth a shine!
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 7:53 AM UTC
Ipp deeb oob voove
Shrek in the me
Hirk ma do dee
Irk groove verande
Trek goova grande
Move the book
Yelp in the hook
Panda in the look
And a bag shook
Never get the dook
Teens are on the clock
Slivers got the shock
Aug 16, 2011
Aug 16, 2011 at 11:27 PM UTC
Touch me not say the morning due to the sunrise disappearing as the sun grew
Touch me not say the coconut tree with its fruits hanging aloof,
Touch me not say the frog with bright red spots corking under the Buttress roots,
Touch me not says the indulging and then eluding dreams.
Touch me not says the maiden, playfully resisting her lover’s every move
Touch me not say the open shore to the teasing ocean waves,
Touch me not say the blood colored fruit to the naive traveler,
Touch me not say the blazing sun to Icarus, son you can’t fly to the sun,
Touch me not says the peeved kid pouting and showing it’s irk.
Touch me not says the volcano, feigning to be at rest
Touch me not says the deranged dog, to anyone who dare to come nearer
Touch me not says the humble cosmos, hiding all its beauty on a dark and cloudy night
Touch me not says the hissing cobra, I can **** an elephant.
Touch me not says the steaming ice
Touch me not says the thorny bushes,
Touch me not says the porcupine,
Touch me not says the diffident butterfly
Touch me not says the poet, can’t you see i am working i can’t be in distress
Touch me not, touch me not I am fine ……
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 3:41 PM UTC
.
*So the smoke coils
surrounding a stray thought
clinging to the vine
as it weaves threads
into a tapestry
of fermented grape wrath.
His pen crawls
across the pages of life
and ignores the punctuation,
a plague infected word flow,
his stream of catharsis.
But the babble
intrudes and sounds irk,
sending resentment forward
like an advance guard
to meet the violence
and deflect the onslaught.
And the wave dies
as the aggressor retreats
before motley defence.
But the mood
has been tainted, spoiled,
despite a flirtatious distraction.
And the flame flickers
as the smoke coils,
and tired eyes avert their gaze
from the perceived ***** page,
the excrement of misery
smeared to make nostrils flare,
and the entry is left
incomplete …*
© Pagan Paul (06/05/19)
May 7, 2019
May 7, 2019 at 5:00 AM UTC
You are the smell of the decaying leaves;
The leaves I long for when life is in bloom.
You are the soft thud of the door
As I slip out, unnoticed.
You are the breath I take, emerging from the frigid ocean,
And the light I illuminate upon my arrival home on the blackest of nights.
You are not, however the electricity,
Or lack thereof when the power surges in the midst of an essay.
You may be pleased to know that you are not that song
Overplayed on the radio that never fails to irk me.
You are also not the piu right before the mezzo forte,
For that is me. I am the piu preceding the mezzo forte.
I am the spare tire on the underside of your car,
And I am also the F sharp to the B natural, a few cents flat.
It may not surprise you that I am the negative sign you forgot to distribute,
And the feeling of snow seeping in through your boots.
You are not the feeling of snow seeping in a pair of boots.
You would like to know that you are the smell of a sharpie,
Uncapped for the first time, and you are the excitement of using it first.
You are even the taste of catching the first snowflake of the winter,
And eating the first s’more of the summer.
You are the chap stick, found in the pocket of the pants in the hamper,
Or perhaps even the twenty dollar bill in the other.
But I am the learner’s permit that went through the wash.
I am also the candle whose wick is drowned in its own wax.
I am not, however the smell of the decaying leaves.
You are the smell of the decaying leaves.
You will now and forever be the smell of the decaying leaves;
The leaves I long for when life is in bloom.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC
What am I to do when you are hundreds of miles away
Hiking the Appalachia
Living off the land and proving your manhood
The dog cannot hold me and warm me at night
The ******** will seize to amuse me after a week
The empty seat at the table will irk me
I could go on but I think you get the point
I need you
If you really must fulfill this quest
Just know
That I will watch the door awaiting your return
That I will hug your pillow every night
that I will wear your clothes to feel closer to you
Ah, I could go on but I think you get the point
I need you
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 8:42 AM UTC
**** I'm so scared
and I'm so in love with you
but I don't have a **** clue
how I'm supposed to trust
that what we have is the thing
gushed about in movies,
and swooned over in novels.
How the hell does anyone decide
that they know with all certainty
and perfect clarity
that that one person
is their one person,
the one meant to be?
I notice little things that irk me,
rub my nerves until they fray
and I wonder, will those
be the things that bring about
the death of us?
Or am I overreacting, overanalyzing
every single moment that passes
because I'm just so ******* scared
of what the future could possibly be.
Because **** am I scared
But **** am I in love with you.
And the biggest torture
of our relationship is,
I don't know which
of those parts of me will win.
Because no matter how much
I am in love with you,
**** am I scared.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 3:42 AM UTC
Cry me a river.
Douse me in the irony of conflict.
I'm just a rock on the edge of it,
sitting patiently for your sigh.
We both sit idly by, tensed for the precious birth of words in silence. Trust the ever-living body of guilt that is boiling over the edges of my self-concept.
Don't speak to me as if I'm some dignitary for justice, but simply as if I might irk out some monochrome of truth whilst I sip my coffee in exasperation.
Irritation is also intoxication might I remind,
so I'm fumbling and tripping over my own flawed reasoning.
I got to this point somehow,
so let us examine it rationally and see why I drowned in the liquor of my own rhetoric.
Or, we can sit tentatively vacant waiting for some resolution to spring from the ether that is the growing chasm between us.
Oct 23, 2010
Oct 23, 2010 at 7:36 PM UTC
Last night I told the moon to send my hello to someone
The moon didn't say anything back
I told the moon to keep an eye on somebody
The moon didn't blink even
I told the moon to brighten that path
The moon seemed a little irked
I told the moon my desires
My words seemed to irk the moon even more
I told the moon
Perhaps I am no poet
I'm a songsmith
Then I huddled, abruptly
This is the account that I earned from talking to the moon
My palaver is now going nowhere
Perhaps I am no poet
I'm a songsmith
At that instant I got up
I picked up my stringed machinery
Instrument, tool, gear, whatever
I sang glancing to the moon
I told the moon many things
Only to find out the moon has no ears
Perhaps I am no poet
I'm a songsmith
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
I'm an outcast
I'm a freak
My quirks are plenty
My life is crazy
Always haunted by my past
Fitting in never works
Friends, they never last
But I know who I am
And I ****** like everyone
So I ignore all I irk
Join me if you're an underdog
Join me if you're a loser
Let's raise hell, like we should
Let's forgive & forget it all
Rise above society's fog
Apr 17, 2011
Apr 17, 2011 at 6:42 AM UTC
Robot girl made of tin
Owns no heart
To break apart
Robot girl made of tin
Robot girl made of tin
Has no emotions to feel
No hurting to heal
Robot girl made of tin
Robot girl made of tin
No reason to live
No desire to give
Robot girl made of tin
Robot girl made of tin
No reason to die
No secrets to hide
Robot girl made of tin
Robot girl made of tin
Sees the sky
Doesn't care to fly
Robot girl made of tin
Robot girl made of tin
Doesn't work
Habitual irk
Robot girl made of tin
Robot girl made of tin
No power to gain
No desire for fame
Robot girl made of tin
Robot girl made of tin
Never thinks deep
Or promises keep
Robot girl made of tin
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 4:58 PM UTC
I withhold this trophy tonight
for the worry you lag on and on
a sack you drag as it parties
owning your back, breaking the light
I withhold my hand and stop the words
for your voice seeps the air I breath
a strangle of the life that smiles
tugging me in the abyss of your devoid
I withhold my trust as I can't censor
the irk that traps and can't be tamed
a mafia that drives you crazy 24 hours
drugging me in a cage of no care
I withhold my question about our intentions
the drive that makes me explode
as I can't blame or save your paranoia
telling a fiction in the reality of stolen memories
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 5:41 PM UTC
You always asked me
"What would I be without you?"
To be brutally honest,
that question scares me to death
because I already know the answer
and I don't want that responsibility
of being your one true love
there is a fine line
between love and obsession
and I'm afraid to say
that you've crossed over
to the other side
where love isn't enough
constant attention isn't enough
daily praise isn't enough
I refuse to be a prisoner to your love
you can't capture me
and put me in a high tower
out of fear that others
may find me desirable
I have spent many a night
scratching and scraping
at the walls of this prison
and today I broke through
and saw the other side of love
the love that is free
and trusting
and encouraging
and amazing
I couldn't look away
I had to have it for myself
so I pulled at the wall
until my fingers were bleeding
and the sharp jagged pieces
ripped through my skin
as I crawled through
the tiny hole I was able to make
I think I even let pieces of hair behind
but no matter
because I am now free
away from your angry clutches
and my new love is helping me
to seal up that wall for good
and I shall tell all about that very day
that I escaped from hell on earth
I wish you could see my smile
it would irk you
and that thought
would make me smile
throughout eternity
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 4:28 PM UTC
Love equals 2 parts sense. 5 parts senses and 3 parts insensity.
Like equals 4 parts sense. 4 parts senses and 2 parts insensitivity.
Tolerate equals 5 parts sense ,2 parts senses and 3 parts intent.
Dislike equals 6 parts cencure ,3 parts severence and 1 part sentence.
Irk eauals 8 parts deslike,1 part loath and 1 part despise.
Loathe equals 9 parts irk and 1 part dislike
When you go past 10, reboot and start again.
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 7:38 PM UTC
capitals irk me.
parentheses are comfortable, like my love embraces me, like i slide letters into envelopes, or don't, rather.
uneven lines and fragmented line endings feel more accurate,
real, everything that is not posed or
staged, everything that keeps you
hanging on to the last syllabic
exhale.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 1:44 PM UTC
I don't mind when it strikes and it hurts
Eighty miles per hour
It won't ache it won't irk
Discover when you've been lied to
And the ones with blood on their hands
Just wipe it on your face and kiss your cheek
I don't mind when it wounds and it shoots
The alcohol tastes so sour
Though it claws at the memory from its roots
And the times spent in your room
Dissolve with the tears from the fumes
Sons of bedeviled thorns and pistols
They take you in
And they swallow you whole
They take a shot
At your chest, at your brain
They take a shot
And they can't really explain
Hotels filled with lonely corpses
A beautiful face seems the only source
That might get you out of your mind
When you are sick and you are lying
Discover that the ones with blood on their hands
Are the only ones who take a stand
With their sins and knives behind their backs
And a smile, and a laugh,
You have to know where you're at
You spell an apology letter by letter
Yet the sky would know better
Than to clear up on a day like today
When it can strike your soul
So fragile and so frail
And your hands
So skinny and so pale
And your smell
So old and so stale
And your heart
I can almost hear it fail
There's no light at the end of that tunnel
There's no mercy for merciless gunner
Maybe next time they'll think ahead
Before their words shoot you dead
But right now I don't mind
If it stabs from behind
Eighty miles per hour
And I still can't race past my mind
And right now don't you mind
Of your hit and run
Are you blind
To the damage done
I hope the sound of the drums
Drowns your cries
Where my soul once lied.
p.t.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 10:10 AM UTC
be the cigarette that lets the Manchurian
candidate wear your socks to a job interview
because his are all piled in the corner of his
bedroom like a group of dead Kennedy's... bad
thought will never take you home again. the
good is found beyond your comfort zone, so
ride the waves, captain cherokee! *and when
the invisible hand of graduality cleaves you
from my marrow, there is nothing but the irk
of a waterfall beyond my cheek-bone, dripping
from the red corners of his chapped lips,
bleeding in the autumnal creek of Octoberish
winterfreeze*
the poem ended where it did, as my inspiration
faded into caffeine insanity and the cipralex kept
me MDMA'd to the glowing grave.
beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful ! ! !
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 4:26 PM UTC
You are taken, and I maybe have him soon..
Though there something that leaves me gobsmacked...
Leaving me to wonder what if's and hows...
Being of the future and the past...
Even while I sit in his arms,
I begin to ponder...
and not of me and him,
it is yet of me and you...
Each time I see you...
I try to keep my feelings back...
Knowing they probably irk you...
Though now things have began to slip out...
You leave me blood-red and giggly,
I still cannot fathom the feelings you give me...
And no need to remind me dear,
for yes I already know... I am a lovesick fool
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 8:58 PM UTC
i'm in that state again
where i'm not sure
if i'm stable enough
to seem "normal"
i think about disappearing
for a while
or maybe forever
every little thing tends to irk me
i'm sorry if i take
my anger out on you
when you don't deserve it
it just seems to me at this time
i can do without life
and life do can without me
see i was extremely happy
about two days ago
but my sadness did not like that
so it decided to take back over
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC