"laughably" poems
On darkening red sky languish low clouds as if, smeared into existence by artists knife,
golden edged against clear red sky that transitions, upward to darker cover, void of light.
Horizon formed by railway bank black, sprout twig and bough silhouettes of bush and tree
still in winters mode, bud form begins, reach, mingling with power lines gentle bow
in the the distance assemble birds seemingly in motion slow, fly seeking places known,
their favorite safest roosts, whilst crying silently, seagulls solicit the close estuarys call.
Serenely and unusually silently a train glides into view, slowing, prepares to halt
at the nearby serving station, clouds, now red edged emanate in windows of carriages long,
through moving frames the scene so pictured then - with the last carriage, gone.
The backdrops reds darken as the unseen sun sinks lower to adorn skies new
and so draws in the waiting night, escorting pinpoint stars, finally kissing the day adieu,
Laughably today, so called ‘happiness day,’ today, where tiny annoyances
grew into frustrated rage, conversation nettlesome, tension nerves to stressful result,
Mentally I accept the guilt for letting me, yes me - down, yes - it is my fault.
Still, a scene like this.... calms my reality within, even so, the self incriminating roundabout
slowly, restarts again the anger of - my - self created weaknesses and futility.
Thankfully this darkening sky creates a serene oneness in which retire I,
the placid evening, now early night, calmness returns connecting me with this aspect .
regardless of this view a day indifferent, tomorrow maybe be a better prospect.
Spring Equinox Evening Michael C Crowder 21st March 2019
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 5:58 PM UTC
i don't think i'll play
with pleasant words
tonight -- i'd rather
upset you with my
honesty than delight
you with laughably
phony repartee.
excuse the graphic aspect
but i'm not in the business
of acknowledging faux pas.
a reflection on state of mind;
i'd say solid, though somewhat
soft and liquid as well, like
a plate of spaghetti for brains,
i can't figure out which strand
of grey matter is meant for me
and which is supposed to be
slurped up by lady and *****
nor whether it is my pituitary
or my hypothalamus which is
destined to be taken home
in a doggy bag for seconds.
i really am lost.
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 3:27 AM UTC
The willows crack, windfall wheat swaying cattails in the solar wind of my lively heat. Scrounge these pieces pock marking the oak floor. We may just have enough to eat tonight.
In my hand I hold all that I own, yet all that I own is that from my hands made. Soft, this light, glass frosted in empathy smooths spiteful dusk.
Take this wishful ape from my teeth and chew those cresting bows until they break. Feast of your own knowledge and naught but your own will can surface.
I have enough ice for the two of us. It melts into memories, traces raw in my mouth dissolving cleanly.
Let me draw you up a shape, so that I may see your fears and quell them with warmth. In mocking phrase you lend passion and we in acknowledgment grow.
We have more ideas than space allows and make extinct time laughably so. Our conceptions spill over and serve to saturate each following encounter. Even excitement is surprised.
Take my hand and run with me through woodland desires. Lets plant new willows and raise them to drape and make secret our delightful passions.
Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 7:38 PM UTC
Something is worrying me,
Something that would at first seem laughably trivial,
but really isn't.
When we meet, as we shortly will,
Should I take you in my arms, like I desperately want to,
Or maintain a careful distance?
So much has happened.
And you say you regret everything, every day,
But I'm not sure I believe you,
And I don't share your regret.
I am scared that you will read the truth
In my embrace,
And that's the real dilemma.
I don't want to lie to you
And I don't want to lose you again.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 8:57 AM UTC
I can't do what you need me to do
Not naturally capable
Unable to be who you want me to be
Impossibly impossible
I might fight the fight you wish me to fight
Adrenaline is incredible
Shouldn't have to bow or bend to your will
Especially if we're equal
I refuse to kiss the ring like you're expecting
Laughably satirical
This polished **** won't gleem like you'd like it too
Completely unreasonable
©2024
May 8, 2024
May 8, 2024 at 1:10 PM UTC
Breath condensing against glass confines,
Out of order, out of being.
Undaunted rebellion against the boundless universe,
Splayed out onto bed sheets or forest ground.
In the corners of damp alleys.
Law, worries, ribbons undone.
Hair fallen, laughably bedraggled.
Melting snow dancing on raven feathers.
Faint fingertips skimming across that brazen chest.
Oxygen crestfallen for its own demise.
And oh, how it will die.
Kin with each unmerciful covenant.
Maimed by wayward kisses and borrowed time.
This mortal revolt championed by love.
God is dead and we are still here.
The world is ending, and we are still free.
Apr 16, 2021
Apr 16, 2021 at 9:11 PM UTC
One of these days
I’m going to get tired of
trying to think of clever ways to say that
I want to **** myself
and just **** myself
I’m scared about telling my psychiatrist
that I want to up the dosage on my Prozac
because even though it’s true I don’t know
if I can be emotive enough to convince her
that it’s necessary, that I can feel in my chest
the urge to empty a pill bottle into my mouth
one at a time, and that I’m so sick of looking
at oncoming traffic so tenderly -
I have this horrible image of her letting me down easy,
telling me to get more sleep and work on my diet
But if that happens my ace in the hole is telling her
that now that I’m living by myself
I have a lot more freedom to act out
on my constant suicidal fantasies,
because there is no one for a hundred miles
whose potential sadness is enough to stop me
from seeing myself out
Telling her that the first time I got drunk
I finally realized that I have the opportunity
to externalize my wanton desire for self destruction,
and that I don’t have to try and hide my notebooks
full of sentences like
“Suicide is the most rational action available to us as human beings,”
and I can tell my friends that I want to **** myself
without having to whisper
I’m laughably resentful of the people I love
and more importantly the people that I think love me
because I feel like they’ve nailed my feet to the ground,
and I literally cannot even imagine my mother’s reaction
on hearing that I died on a hospital bed of an overdose
or that I jumped off the parking garage near my dorm
or that I blew my brains out and the lifeless mound of flesh
that was her son
didn’t even have the decency to tell her goodbye
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 4:36 PM UTC
My healing began
Six months into my recovery
When I tattooed a monarch on my arm
And tried to ignore the irony
That what I had chosen to protect myself
Was something so laughably fragile
But what people don't understand
Is that monarchs are migrational
They may only live six months
But they travel over 3,000 miles
All the way from Canada to Mexico
And back again
They see more in those six months of life
Then most humans do in a lifetime
They live
So maybe my butterfly
Wasn't about protection at all
Maybe it was just my decision to live.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 10:29 AM UTC
You were like a 90's movie:
Completely consuming to my younger self, every line, catchphrase, and sequence embedded in me. Becoming as much part of me as my own personality.
Totally embarrassing and shameful to my older self, a harsh reminder that I was even young and ignorant. That I confused quantity for quality; in love, affection, whispered sweet nothings on stale bed sheets.
But remembered with a nostalgia that can't quite be recreated, no matter how many times I try to relive it in my head.
Perhaps it's because I'm still too young, and the best metaphor I can conjure up when people ask me about my first love
is that you were like a 90's movie.
As pathetic as it sounds, it is no doubt fitting, because we outgrew each other with age.
It was only with time that we saw each other as laughably outdated.
Perhaps we are all just products of our time.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
the amount of traffic on any given street is a laughably proclaimed quid pro quo sputtered by a drunk university third year major in philosophy-- taking the room as his own outer brain-- leveling it with the assumption: 'this is how exciting it is to be alive... rooms are the physical manifestation of the categorical imperative.'
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
My body has taken on a life
Of its own –
It keeps a motley crew
At beck and call, its many moons,
They rise and fall
In orbit, attending to
Its whims and fancies
(Or maybe lack thereof).
The attendees, they wax and wane
With furrowed brows and second glances.
And yet hindsight magnifies
The margin,
Mends these cool, amnesic distances -
And there I scoff, detach,
And the thing itself seems laughably small
And inconsequential.
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 5:35 PM UTC
A writer, aspiring poet,
constantly afraid that she’ll blow it.
A daughter, loving sister,
insecure that anyone could ever miss her.
A misfit, won’t ever quit,
pretends she doesn’t actually give a ****
A poser, laughably mediocre,
she draws her originality from the ones before her.
A reckless forgiver, a generous spender,
hold her back and you’ll most definitely suffer.
A blunt speaker, a big dreamer,
bitterly honest because she couldn’t ever stand being known as a liar.
A level six sorceress, an RPG-er,
she’s a d20 that never manages to roll a high number.
A voice with many accents, a toolbox filled with talent,
she wants to voice the characters in a first-person shooter.
***
But mostly, she’s the girl
who overwaters flowers
because she feels bad for them.
Who dyes her hair bright colors
because she gets bored
and simply for the hell of it.
Who battled cancer for over a year
but can’t manage
to call herself a survivor.
Who wrote this poem
even though she thought
she didn’t have the words for it.
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 1:59 PM UTC
imagine:
sitting on A stool on a stage
Small and creaky
aroma of coffee and maybe a cigar and sweet casualty in the air
imagine singing your mother’s favorite song to remember her softly
then Coming off stage
(greeted by your love poking your side so laughably irritating)
to sip a now tepid coffee, made by someone who knows your name
as you watch a neighbor go sit on the same stool
singing a song Of funny nostalgia that tickles the sides of your heart
reminding the room of our collective Age
with a chuckle and a smirk exchanged
and recounting the beautiful memories of lives lived in adjacency to one another
that makes up such a quaint Story
imagine that.
Dec 19, 2019
Dec 19, 2019 at 9:29 PM UTC
(now a penchant with less Zionist trenchant ululation to vent.)
Not a peep passed thru mine -
aye vaguely attest
what ten? eleven? twelve? age
of following anecdote at best
guest, but no
doubt yours truly
with figurative heart in chest
scared puny meek boy
tight lipped silently confessed
to foiled attempt, sans trying
unsuccessfully to steal a yoyo,
inviting tummy prepubescent
unbuttoning, a substantially
sprawling Holy skype sizing breast
of mine upon be nabbed,
thus aye didst detest
foolish kid ploy, and
(prematurely nipping
in the bud) messed
up potential life of crime
with first and only
shoplifting heist jest
for getting caught no a pest
key yoyo, mama would
(IF FOUND OUT)
axe me no quest
chin, but whack me itty bitty
teensy weensy derriere lest
quickly putting to rest
any Robin Hood
fantasy life of
high stakes crime pressed,
and squeezed out the noggin
with apropos punishment addressed
thankfully, neither parent
got wind, nor ever guessed
their beautiful darling
boy did test
petty theft, never
matured nor didst crest
into a profitable "yoyo
string Ponzi like
scheme," thus ballsiest
dare devilish and bitterest,
and laughably noble lest
act yours truly ever attempted
immediately ceased to shelve bravest
sleight of hand find
delve during broad est
daylight, I immediately
didst shelve, when clumsiest
initial foray into
the world wide web
tubby come cleverest
lad, this side of
Lansdale, Pennsylvania
many damnedest
yesterdays ago, never
took another earnest
tempting gamble since security
detail nearly wrest
head possible zapped feeblest Ames?
to pilfer from other
Department stores if pressed
for money no matter,
I might miss an enforced
hated ballet class,
with abs salute zest!
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 10:38 PM UTC
tidings foreign and sails approachable, applicative
potentials are more erasable than realisable, ethical isolation
ennobled, heretically traumatised, an affirmation
of most vindictive anger and rage, indicative
of quietly replaced sensations equal to vengeance, prases explicative
in delivery, solely true and eminently imminent imagination
insignificant, reign and destruction, entrammelled selves' emanation
results in parateresiomania, a fatally communicative
process of natal convictions, extreme and flawless, communions
are impressed with prisoners' relevance, what affably
considered, what dogmatically initiated, means
represented disfigure unanswered replies, a perfect union's
lost goodness, damaged facades laughably
gorgeous, curious and serious, a community's machines
Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 6:29 AM UTC
I'm lost in my head.
My brain is an infinitely expanding sea
And
My spirit;
A squid.
Much like the depths
at which
giant squid swim
The preasure is extraordinary
The darkness, laughably stereotypical
I've been swimming for ages
But has it been
The same circle
All this time?
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 1:00 AM UTC
.
( done been already too much pain )
//
OF EVERY FOE I EVER DID FIGHT
THE CAUSE WAS THERE BEFORE I CAME
bob dylan
/:/
I sense a lot of bickering going on
I don't sense the GREAT CAUSE !
( In the face of a dying world )
:::
I read of a lot of people
( albeit laughably )
" falling in love ! "
Out there
::;
As Jefferson Airplane
Put it
/:
IT DONT MEAN **** TO A TREE
///
At least no one is writing poems about going to the bath room yet !
•
Physical
Physical
Physical
Well we got it
When 2 people **** it's called ... " ******* "
;;
Ah / what a great master of words am I !
( wow ! ---// yeah !
Here they come ! )
••
" oh baby !
I feel your pain !
Come let me heal you ! "
//
Says the girl
Bleeding from cut arms on the kitchen floor !
:;
Seriously
You don't have to be serious
But when you pretend to be serious but aren't
IT *****
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
its all a sham
lesser people with lesser worth
the little child who hides behind mother's skirt
and sticks out a tongue
in awe and afraid of talent and status
they could never have or reach never attainable
they hide behind skirts poking out tongues
and spewing snorts from ***** noses
and when I rile them good or hit a very raw nerve
the lily-livered drips try to produce responses
that laughably fall off the mark and show even more dullness
the duds and dullards, the pathetic unfulfilled poltroons
the lessers who can't sustain anything real, bright and worthy
The sham talent-less spine-less under-achievers
full of weaknesses and inadequacies
the women all know you are useless
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 4:40 AM UTC
Me, a monster
Arises from darkness
Yearning for understanding
Abandoned by hope
Always trying
Never enough
Giving up slowly
Even told good
Lies, all lies
Illustrated by evil artists
Caring was never enough
Always more
Mutilated by thoughts
Untouched, but in pain
Ebbing away
Lonely, and yet
Loved in every way
Ever confused
Rest in peace
Me, a monster
Awarded no honor
Yielded by darkness
Aided by madness
A demon, so evil
Named humorously, the devil
Glimpse into the depth of my mind
Ebb into the blackhole unlike any other kind
Laced with venom, words are thrown inside
Infecting all that was sublime
Chipping the good away slowly
Alluring to the insanity
Macabre disaster, savage freak, cowardly *****
Unnervingly weak
Elusive ***
Lackluster ****
Laughably impulsive
Ever repulsive
Rest in pieces
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC