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"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
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Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 5:58 PM UTC
Spring Equinox Evening
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
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20
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.
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Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 3:27 AM UTC
vermicelli cerebrum
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.
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Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 7:38 PM UTC
The Willow
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.
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Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 8:57 AM UTC
Greeting Dilemma
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
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May 8, 2024
May 8, 2024 at 1:10 PM UTC
~•§•~ Reasonably Unreasonable ~•§•~
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.
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Apr 16, 2021
Apr 16, 2021 at 9:11 PM UTC
At Times I Feel
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
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Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 4:36 PM UTC
I Want Sleep Forever and Ever
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
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39
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.
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Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 10:29 AM UTC
Monarchs
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.
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Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
Analogy in a 'Digital Age'
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.'
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Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
exhaust
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.
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Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 5:35 PM UTC
Untitled
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.
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May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 1:59 PM UTC
Me, Fe.
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.
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Dec 19, 2019
Dec 19, 2019 at 9:29 PM UTC
A Small Coming Of Age Story
(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!
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Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 10:38 PM UTC
The Antics Of A Would Be Mama's Yoyo Thief
(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!
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69
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
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Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 6:29 AM UTC
tidings foreign and sails approachable, applicative
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?
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Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 1:00 AM UTC
Lost at sea
. ( 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 *****
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Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
... gentle
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
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Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 4:40 AM UTC
I want my mummy.....
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
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Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
M. A. M.