"lethargy" poems
Strange malaise,
One I can't place.
Struggling of late.
Discomforting state.
Persistent lethargy.
Sloth-like and heavy.
Burning internals.
Frequent intervals.
No temperature.
No warning lever.
Don't know what's wrong.
Been rather long.
Medicine trough
Can't rid me this cough.
Expulsion so violent,
Incessantly recurrent.
Over a fortnight
This ailment I fight.
Still hasn't eased.
Can't be appeased.
Development is seen.
Now spitting green.
Not just all
That joined this brawl.
It's just the coughing.
No injury I'm suffering,
I haven't bled...
But I see red...
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends,
I stepped out of a puffing train,
my long unkempt hair a lion's mane,
getting used to my twitching tail,
Posing on the Gateway of India,
the extraordinary explorer pose,
took a boat to Elephanta (sans the hose),
and when my shivering co-passengers
had finished feverishly taking pictures
and started screaming holy mothers and sisters,
I took off from the starboard end,
and became the first man-lion to
cross the polluted Indian channel,
surviving to make the news channels,
my scientific name listed as a brand new mammal,
my mating call recognized as a gushing gargle,
On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends,
I devoured deep-kissing lovers for lunch
at Bandstand's low-tide on a hunch,
to the delicious sound of munch! munch!
even as Shah Rukh Khan watched disgusted
from his big big bungalow by the sea,
and as the city sharpshooters came after me,
and later when they brought me down,
from Nariman Point building, like KING KONG,
I tuned a dusty guitar and sang a melancholy song,
on the death of adventure, love and reality,
dangers of delusions, lethargy and self-pity,
repression, horniness and too much TV,
down in a shower of bullets when I went,
sky like the coming of rain, godspeed, godsend,
in a mythical city, where nothing is really meant,
On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends...
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC
*You live in a world of all black and white.
Not the slightest glint of pigment, not the smallest touch of gray, not an inkling or a semblance of happiness or hope.
You blend in well with the world of black and white, of dullness and lethargy, knowing nothing other than lack of color and eternal melancholy.*
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
sappho greets her as she
would a reflection:
hand against hand, staring into
her eyes. silence dancing
around them as a long-lost love-
r.
enheduanna sighs at the contact
and the quiet shifts as
her fingers close:
as there is no need for language
when her
inanna will grant them
a holy diadem.
-----
eternity reeks
of nights out on the lawn
daisies growing with the weeds
pillowing beneath the two
dwindling women -
hands clasped tightly,
their eyes closed.
...lapis blooming
within the petals
of the undergrowth...
gods slumber amongst
worthy poets occluding,
heart-soothing each
other without words
or sonnets
or divination.
sappho dared to
look out from
heavy-lidded
lethargy,
for she was
yearning:
at dawn
...her honeyvoiced,
mythweaving
enheduanna:
a sweet-shelter
of temptation
and goddesses
who wage
tender war and
drink from pools
of sun...
at dawn
the ancient
divine
poet
gazes
again
and sappho
forgets she
too is nearly
as old
for her lover wears
an invisible golden-
crowned circlet
of springtime
and illuminated
lands.
but she can hardly think
anymore, when
the songsmith of
glory and prayer
is kissing her.
laying in the basin
of heaven and skies
she pours restless
eternity down
her throat.
----
lapis melts
to pink clovers
of fowlerite
no mortals notice
two bodies blending
between poems
rustling tunics
maidens casting
away their
fruitful
sobriety.
----
poet
dreams
a woman
of verse.
hardly expecting
shallow-breathed
kisses of burning
solstice and
unrequited
love.
Feb 16, 2022
Feb 16, 2022 at 12:18 AM UTC
It lives in Him breathes in his vitals,
Personifies him and nets out of his veins lethargy,
It dampens what his heart has in offer,
It lays in him waste,
a bewitched rower to this boat,
Who has yet to learn to stay afloat,
His obfuscations lead him sober,
His blind eye dictates his horror,
A pearl beyond imagination he has yet to attain,
To proclaim his name with no distain.
Jun 27, 2025
Jun 27, 2025 at 11:14 PM UTC
We are all eternally tired,
but it's not sleep we lack.
Your resilience should be admired,
but it's time to
hit the sack.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
Practice is a really great master
Who will impart great education
By canceling impending disaster
It will bring a happy elevation
By making growth come faster
It will result in a standing ovation
Everything is by practice gained
Nothing is by lethargy obtained
A king is born if he has strained
By taking action one by one
Our path gets definitely cleared
If we regard work as a great fun
Brand new horizons are discovered
If we hard-work under the Sun
By God Himself we will be cheered.
M V VENKATARAMAN
Mar 5, 2010
Mar 5, 2010 at 4:35 AM UTC
A mere trifle, this thing that troubles the lid.
Forever in fear, unable to compose
Vision stoops to comprehend this failure,
Pride doesn’t.
A glimpse of blindness,
With the ardor of helplessness.
De facto, it is in the eyes of another
Where you were mistaken.
The red in between
Defining ties of the wicked, wise
In stupor and pain, in insomniac lethargy
The poisoned gaze, returns quietly.
Sun shades, remember
Anger cheats as much as it destroys.
The flaming ash of a cigarette,
Another excuse for a Gimlet.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 6:09 PM UTC
Counting... Always... Counting.
A cup of herbal tea, maybe with some sugar.
If I feel up to it.
Maybe some soup, grilled cheese.
If I can stomach it.
Dinner. Whatever mom makes.
My only supervised meal.
Tired, all day... Every day.
Drowning in college papers.
The curves I worked so hard to get back...
Well. They're nearly gone.
Protruding hip bones,
Protruding collar bones,
Boney fingers,
Pale skin,
Fantastic figure and pretty ribs,
Cold toes and bad circulation.
Heart murmurs... Shaky breathing... Migraines... Exhaustion... Confusion... Lethargy... Weight loss
Shaking, Shaking, Shaking...
Shivering?
Gotta go make a cuppa, warm up a bit.
But... what's left for me to be healthy for, anyway?
I'll take a bath to warm up instead
Probably.
Nov 18, 2020
Nov 18, 2020 at 1:27 PM UTC
I am sitting at a desk,
back straight, head forward, eyes open. Blink.
Economics melts into white noise as
supply curves become demand curves become supply curves, elasticity.
Water weeps through the crevasses of the windows and ceiling,
mocking my ever fragile existence.
Ankle deep in yesterday's cold forgotten words unsaid,
the lesson advances.
Demand curves become supply curves become demand curves, consumer surplus.
A single drop christens my desk and terror fills my long hollow eyes
as the ceiling mutates into a congregation of puddles.
Rain that felt of hydrochloric acid
dissolved the very flesh I tried to escape.
God is not so sweet when it comes to sinners,
confining me to the barriers of an insignificant wooden desk.
The class remains like mannequins,
indifference radiating from their plastic cores.
Supply curves become demand curves become supply curves, externalities.
The only witness to this nightmare,
my last breathe finally deserts me.
I tense as the numbing waves climb up my spine,
injecting lethargy in each individual vertebra.
Malicious tentacles wrap around my throat and water floods my collapsing black lungs.
White noise consumes the entire classroom as I float in and out of paralysis,
only to open my eyes. Blink.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
To wit to woo, or not to wit to woo,
Would wooing suit a suitor shy on wit?
Or would a witty suitor suit poor Sue,
For Sue aint one to want a witless twit!
If Sue is wooed by witty repartee,
Then Sue and suitor could be well suited,
But he who woo's poor Sue with lethargy,
Is like to like not how he gets booted!
So if you want to woo, and to woo Sue,
Then deign to don a suit and do your bit,
To shoot for Sue, your wit should shoot straight thru',
Or wooing Sue aint worth a sack of spit;
Poor Sue just wants a witty suitor, see?
So if your wit is wanting, leave her be!
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 10:23 AM UTC
I've seen bodies aching,
freshly groomed,
seeking to fill the void with
touch.
Sleeping under vibrant bouquets
of drowsiness and lethargy.
I can see the figure in my future
He's drowning in the plants of lust
But I should wait until that time.
I must, I must, I must.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
my polygamous relationship with you distances me from the monotony of monogamy and makes me feel lonelier than the loneliest mundane monogamist. my mere apologies for my misendeavors, the malnutritious morals of my miseducation propose metal mirrors and castaways controlled by cutting carvers, craving crazy letters and loyalty from lengthy lies and lonely lives. lethargy overtakes and vowels reign, raining drops like rainbows and rocks in rivers, rusting relationships, rusty railroads at intense intersections entwined in everything inside and nothing on the outside anymore except these
muscles. we are back at the beginning.
my mind marvels in the magic of the memories, the madness of the morbidity and the hesitations of your reaction. his, I take, is misunderstood as my misfortune, but it is not a miss, my fortune: it is a fox in feathers colorful like friendships 'fore their forfeited and feigned approval, forced for fear of polygamy tho' it promises the purest pleasure, the most personal independence and precious pearls of princes, princesses, powerful, plight-less
poetry. peace surrenders,
souls surprise themselves, surprise their cells, call for curious catastrophes to take place. colorful and calm they coincide with cooperation that can not contain the context of truth, of teases, of teasers and targets and tonal dualities and we endeavor, we endear you, we dare destroy the darkness of the devil in its disguised diamonds.
words lie at my feet like pebbles of poetry and I promise personal demise, deterioration and ridiculous obsessions- there's madness to be had and fragments to be written and I play with silly alliteration instead!
serious and serene you stare as if my sanity has slowly faded and I sternly helplessly smile shyly. I suppose you are sincerely offering me your blessing before parting, so stumbling slightly I surrender…
if this is the prevailing promise of mere mortality, I'm graciously aware I was worthy of words.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
Sleep does not seem to
Be an adequate remedy
For my lethargy.
I long for the deepest slumber;
A coma's freedom.
Rest not only for my eyes,
But for my conscience.
(c) 2016 Brandon Antonio Smith
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 7:00 PM UTC
Day goes on and days pass by
i don't know what m doin right now
I linger here n i mingle there
i don't know what am upto
This filthy mood n layering roof
Shutting doors n ringing phones
Chucking people n ******* weather
Strange outlook n fishy monsoon
Winters heading n lethargy prevailing
Less laconic n more problematic
More on fashion less in season
Exhausted fights n dull lights
To sweep all out magic has to be loud
—A.A.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 5:11 PM UTC
Boredom #2
I’ve never seen so many synonyms for one small noun,
Blocking maturation and enjoy-dom:
Boredom.
“Weariness, ennui: frustration;
Restlessness, dissatisfaction, unconcern: frustration;
Lethargy, lassitude, flatness and frustration;
Dreariness, repetitiveness, apathy: frustration;
Tedium, monotony, dullness. yes, frustration.”
Can it be overcome, this boredom?
No more war - the boredom won,
Exchanged for something more like fun?
It can.
A friend who, when we speak, says,
“It’s a part of nature…has no answer...”
Reasoning fallacious,
She is wrong as wrong can be
And her reasoning a fallacy.
Awake at night: hormones, full moons;
The glut of light: electric gadgets and devices,
Radios that play a song too strong, too long..
A trick I’ve learned that’s brought results;
A knack, a shortcut worth consulting
Is to train the brain to focus on/in/with the brain;
Travel round in, sense and feel…
Make it real – as if you really feel
The part you aim at, frame then tame.
In seconds you’ve an object that’s becomes a subject.
Boredom fled, you freed,
You and your mood well pleased, released
And taken places least expected,
Un-objected to by you,
The burden boredom’s through.
And doomed!
Boredom 11.24.2016/ #2 revised 2..16.2017
Revelations Big & Small; Definitely Didactic;
Arlene Corwin
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 6:30 AM UTC
66% is the Devil Point...
I have 6 courses abandoned at 66%..
The greatest power Devil has is not temptation,
It is boredom and procrastination
It is the mid-point sway...
It is the collapse of the pre-frontal cortex,
when we reach half-way through our goal,
when we are too far from our starting point,
and too far from our ending point,
We don't know why we began,
We don't know where we will end.
So the Devil point kicks in at 66% completion,
And makes us procrastinate, makes us feel "meh"
Brave thru it, ye fellow warrior,
Just do the tiniest bit needed in a day,
Just tie your shoes laces and half the race is won
Make a cup of tea.. and the article is written
Clear some clog in the room, and the painting is done..
So, to bump over that comfortable resting point...
that lethargic 66% mid-way stop,
pamper yourself with something momentarily
and just do ONE small thing every day
'Cause I promise you this, when you have inched to 80%
you will be fuelled again with images of victory
all doubt and disbelief and lethargy will be thwarted
You will forget pain and other creature comforts
You will cruise through the finish line..
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 5:48 AM UTC
This is turning out to be a sundry thing
Oddball bowties and impurities
Fruits of our labor no, vegetables of lethargy
We are always one of a kind
Listen to our veracious lies
Once in a blue we let them out
Nobody can know, everybody will know our name
Why do I always feel bad? I know I shouldn’t feel bad
I should be grateful for the rain
It’s all upside down, but I’ll be fine
I’ll take my time, I can find a way someday
It’s all right side up, I’ve had enough
Life is rough, what can I say?
Is it weird to desire change?
The sudden urge to rearrange
To color outside the laid down lines
I’m not saying to start all over
Or to tear down and build a new
I just need something different to do
Nothing to run from, there’s nothing to run from here
I must of imagined, guess I just imagined
Apologies my darling dear
We’re all glistening, with our sweat
Let’s make a bet, the stakes are set, soaring
They’re all listening, but you’re not yet
You’re in my bed, snoring
The world will always spin, so just tell me where and when
Play it cool and lay low, give me the coordinates then we’ll go
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 6:32 PM UTC
Her breath is a cinnamon fragrance
eyes are like glowing emeralds
lips are caramel
she fills me
Her kiss puts my lethargy away
time remembers only what is real
for our bliss freezes this special moment
devotion is our journey
life - our destination
awakening to the senses
love's culmination
everything sparks when she's near
Mar 19, 2021
Mar 19, 2021 at 6:43 AM UTC
Dream, tell me
what have you heard
from the gossiping stars?
did they let my wishes
fall into the hands
of hummingbird nests?
did the quiet ocean blue
bring waves of things untrue?
Were you deceived by piano keys
lingering songs & eulogies?
Does the sun cleanse your lethargy
or are you like me?
Where it never reaches you in time
before everything fades to a quiet dark
tell me, Dream.
Jul 4, 2022
Jul 4, 2022 at 7:37 PM UTC
XXXIX
Because thou hast the power and own’st the grace
To look through and behind this mask of me
(Against which years have beat thus blanchingly
With their rains), and behold my soul’s true face,
The dim and weary witness of life’s race,—
Because thou hast the faith and love to see,
Through that same soul’s distracting lethargy,
The patient angel waiting for a place
In the new Heavens,—because nor sin nor woe,
Nor God’s infliction, nor death’s neighborhood,
Nor all which others viewing, turn to go,
Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed,—
Nothing repels thee, . . . Dearest, teach me so
To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good!
2.4k
I'm bored of blue skies.
I'm bored of art, music, poetry, fantasy, movies and writing.
I'm bored of breathing, walking, talking, dancing, laughing and crying.
Bored of train rides home alone, bored of trying to understand.
Bored of remembering my dreams, bored of begging for dreams I can't have.
I'm bored of feeling.
I'm bored of drugs, alcohol, relationships, bars, clubs and pointlessness.
I'm bored of hugs, whispers, kisses, smiles and carelessness.
What to do when there's nothing to do,
What to do when you can't spend time with you.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
.
*Walk through the silence
of a lonely tapestry,
its mute single thread
trying to Canute the night,
knowing it must ride the Moon
to dance with the stars.
Blood red ink.
Ink red blood.
Across pages it falls,
words of needlepoint pain
screaming at the audience,
the Moon has been deflowered
and the stars dance alone.
Cedar wood smoke perfumes
the stench of lethargy,
from an open log fire
throwing flickers of hopeful light,
flame fingers burn the Moon
as the stars cry for the weaver.*
© Pagan Paul (02/06/19)
Jun 4, 2019
Jun 4, 2019 at 4:36 AM UTC
Fog Happens
Yup. Not profound, even Jung, Kant and Freud,
wouldn’t deny their eyes, would no doubt disagree
with symbolic, philosophical implications, and the
head banging ramifications for the immediacy of
the spiritual impact while driving in this grey ****
Fog differs every time, and on an island, that’s for
**** sure. Today’s incarnation, the fog comes over
the water, but respects the man-made, timbered,
bulkhead, so the yard, with its circus of ravens, crows,
and other invisible birds, insects, rabbits, is visible,
but absent the inhabitants who are smarter-than-humans,
they remain aboded thinking, only stupid humans believe
they can navigate and forage, in a fog penetrating in air
that is 97% humidity and 100% peas soup thick skinned.
The time? Of course.
It’s 7:36 AM on the East Coast, and beyond the lawn lies a brackish bay that will lead you to the Atlantic and north to the Titanic, direction Newfoundland. Not enough info to geo tag me, but those who know me, knowledgeable in my early mornings scribblings, know my whereabouts, my telephone number. Do you?
Fog Happens to everyone and at random intervals, Nope. Not thinking of the brain clouds of ordinary Lethologica and Lethonomia. (Sunday lazy so just look it up and say out loud, gotta remember them words and laugh out loud cause you ain’t gotta a prayer.)
Fog Happens
in the heart, spreading north to the consciousness, and the lethargy of movement impeded by the lighthouse bells tolling “danger is about,” our light stolen, but you need to know, you’re perilously close to danger. Any action taken when heart-fogged can have awful consequences so stick close to bed, yank out your tablet, write a poem, listen to sad love songs on that Pandora Station, or send GIPHYs and emojis to your six year old granddaughter who is 108 miles to the west of where you both hide beneath coverlets, and laugh out loud with her like the bells chiming outside, and that helps move that heart~fog hanging low, out to sea.
YUP.
Fog Happens
Fog Passes
Jun 25, 2023
Jun 25, 2023 at 8:00 AM UTC