"monologue" poems
Better that every fiber crack
and fury make head,
blood drenching vivid
couch, carpet, floor
and the snake-figured almanac
vouching you are
a million green counties from here,
than to sit mute, twitching so
under prickling stars,
with stare, with curse
blackening the time
goodbyes were said, trains let go,
and I, great magnanimous fool, thus wrenched from
my one kingdom.
53.4k
*
Hindi lahat ng prinsipyo ay tama gaano man ito kapositibo. Ang kawastuhan ng bawat prinsipyo at pananaw ay naaayon sa: panahon, tao, katangian at kakayanan nito, konkretong kalagayan at kung minsa'y kasama pati ang kulturang kinabibilanagan.
Kaya ang sabihing "wag **** masyadong seryosohin ang buhay" o kung ano pang mga kasabihan, ay maaaring tama at mali, ayon sa mga nabanggit.
Ano't ano pa man, ikaw pa rin ang huling magpapasya. Ano man ang maging pananaw ng ilan sa iyo, ituring **** ito'y bahagi lamang ng buhay...ng buhay mo at hindi nila.
4/1/2016 - Hindi porke nagiisa malungkot na. Dahil mas malungkot kung nakiki-high five ka sa lahat pero pag talikod mo fina-fuck u ka na pala.
4/4/2016 - kahit ano pang sabihin nila, mas masarap pa rin sa pakiramdam yung umiintindi ka ng kapwa kesa sa naninira ng kapwa. kaya sa tingin mo sinong may mas masarap na pakiramdam ngayon?
4/11/2016 - napag-alaman kong hindi sa lahat ng pagkakataon ang iyong pagpapagal ay may mabuting kapalit...na ang iyong mga inaasahan ay may balik. hindi sa lahat ng panahon ang polisiya ay nasusunod.. ni ang itinakdang panukat ang siyang ginagamit na panukat.
4/21/16 - kahit ginawan ka ng masama ng iba, nasaktan ka, 'wag kang gaganti...dahil hindi mo trabaho yun. 'wag **** agawan ng trabaho ang Diyos. Dahil alam mo sa sarili mo pag ang Diyos ang gumati, mas sakto at perpekto.
4/26/16 - Those people who mocks prayer entertain curse to their lives.
4/27/2016 - "ang position nilalagay sa puso, hindi sa ulo." - M' Avie
5/11/2016 - Alin ang mas pinaka-nakakapagod, ang magtrabaho gamit ang isip o gamit ang pisikal na katawan? Kasi sa totoo lang, wala naman talagang nakakapagod doon...mas nakakapagod makitungo sa mga katrabahong mahirap pakitunguhan...
6/6/2016 - Duwag lang ang nagpaparinig.
7/12/2016 - Wala naman talagang absolute fairness, dahil ang tao minsan nagdidesisyon sa ngalan ng "fairness" nilang tinatawag pero ang totoo, ito ay nagsisilbi pa rin sa kanilang interes dahil may integridad silang pinapangalagaan. Doon masasabi ng iba, "fair" ang taong ito.
7/28/2016 - monologue at bugtungan
"Ginagawa ko naman ang trabaho ko pero habang tumatagal ako sa serbisyo hindi ako nadadagdagan kundi nababawasan." - Lapis
"Tingin-tingin, maghapong nakatingin. Kahit pa magdamag, 24/7 walang kurap." - CCTV (tao, bagay, hayop?) :-)
"Gusto nila sa akin laging mabilis dahil pag bumagal ako sasabihin nila "nakakainis", "walang kwenta.", etc, etc. - BAGP network*
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 12:55 AM UTC
Someone who means a great deal to me once said that you can’t find love. You can’t go searching for it, it finds you. It finds you out of nowhere and once it’s there you can’t ignore it. I thought that was a cute way of putting things and continued on with life, waiting for love to find me. But then I got impatient and tried to find it on my own, but it never happened. I was terrified of relationships for some unknown reason or past trauma, and I never found it. Until it found me.
It steamrolled me completely out of nowhere and I didn’t see it coming. It was the worst and best thing that ever happened to me because it was beautiful to feel so deeply for someone and not feel any fear to let myself fall. For my best friend, someone I could spend hours talking to.
Only you didn’t feel it too. Apparently you can ignore it, or maybe fate is sick and twisted and Cupid only hit me.
So I love you. I love you and I can’t stop and it absolutely ***** because you don’t feel the same way for me. I know even if you did we’d never work out and yet if you sat me down and tried to convince me of all the reasons we would always be wrong for each other and never right, I wouldn’t be able to stop.
Trust me, I wish I could. I wish I hated you instead, or just didn’t care at all.
But I can’t stop. You could break my heart ten times over and I wouldn’t be able to stop. I don’t understand why but it’s just a fact.
I’ll always wonder why I’m not good enough or if maybe you’ll ever change your mind.
Maybe one day I’ll stop, finally get over it, but for now I’m stuck here never being able to get over you. I can’t move on, I can’t stop hurting, I can’t stop loving you. I don’t know that I’ll ever feel this way about someone again, or if I manage to get over you if I even want to, because I don’t ever want to be crushed like this again.
Because I love you. And you don’t love me.
Mar 24, 2021
Mar 24, 2021 at 1:03 AM UTC
Dal Lake
I float on Dal Lake
Suspended
between the thick soupy crisp air of soldiers
water lilies, Kashmiri bread
and the Muslim prayers
that penetrate the hardness of war
chanting Allah Bismallah
Floating Islam
Holy words drenching the air
Drenching the green cloth of Hindu soldiers
Sliding down the cool metal of a rifle
9 years of war
1,000 houseboats lie empty
in the Himalayan fog
Intricately carved furniture
Thick with dust
and the powder of blood and bullets
Himalayan silhouette etched black
against the song of lotus gatherers
Foggy voices like cloud of moon
Lotus lake
Gray of war and desperation
Children beg
1 rupee
1 rupee
1 rupee
Endless monologue
Parched like lotus shaped paddle
They throw flowers to me
endlessly
I throw them back
endlessly
Time passes slowly
like smoke on a lizard’s tail
trailing in the thick, rancid air
of burning meat and maple leaves
Like a shikara
moving over the glass of Kashmir
The sound of a dozen Bangees
floating over the water
Hollow, solemn and mournful
Echoing against the hardness
of the surrounding mountains
The circle of Himalayas
Like a womb
around the prayers of Pachin
In the middle of the lake
I hear the call to prayer
Azan Nemarz Suba
Azan Nemarz Pashin
Azan Nemarz Degar
Azan Nemarz Sham
Azan Nemarz Koftan
From dawn till dusk
Azan
4 mosques
4 singers
4 directions
staggered by a breath
like an imperfect echo
Azan slips into the pockets of island soldiers
Waters the impatience of soldiers on the shore
Steals into the vacant eyes of soldiers in the Mosque
They want to go home to their wives and children
They want to leave the place of prayer, which is not theirs
The place of prayer, which has seen death
The place where God was pushed out
In order to not see the killing
To **** what they don’t see
The place, which was no longer a refuge
Outside
Dal Lake turns to the color of red lentils
cooking in a dented metal ***
In the Shikara boat we eat dal and rice
and throw scraps into the silver water
where it washes up
onto the ***** boots of a soldier
I hear the dull gray click, click of his rifle
as it touches the ground
The prayers have ended
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 3:34 PM UTC
If I wrote a book,
you will be my central character.
Million copies later,
I may write through your impeccable knowledge.
If I wrote a poem,
you will be in every word.
A couple of views later,
I may speak through your poetic silence.
If I acted in a play,
you will be my audience.
A few applauses later,
I may act out a monologue of glorious affection.
Say hi,
Say hello,
Say no more,
When words stop,
I will understand,
That we are where we need to be.
If I met you in real life,
you will be my soul mate.
A few decades later,
I may seek a second life with you.
So, meet me now! :)
Nov 8, 2019
Nov 8, 2019 at 10:52 AM UTC
One shot.
It only took one shot,
then he faded away.
Bones weakening,
his heart stopping.
Life ending.
Mid-breath,
he came to rest.
The world around him disappeared.
Another shot,
from another gun,
From another blood.
He didn’t mean to shoot,
it wasn’t his fault.
He was fast act,
but too fast to think,
It all happened in a blink.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 1:43 PM UTC
home isn’t just a structure -
brick and water aren’t symbols,
they don’t reflect trust or
Love.
I can wash -
the grease from my hair
the dirt from my skin
and uncomfortably sleep
when my inner monologue is louder than ever,
with your songs ringing in my ears,
and bad thoughts longing to be heard
but it’s love
your love
that keeps me warm
and makes me feel safe,
not the white walls
or the bread in the cupboard
I consume the fibre
Anyway
and glare at the walls.
home could leave
unannounced, brutally
I'll get warmth from the radiator
now you're gone
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 6:59 PM UTC
She was cold
My mind
She was bored
She put on her boots
Took her cigarette
And went out
Strolling among stony faces
No face could wear a wrinkle
No ear could bear a ring
There were lots and lost of smiles
Some pink some red
unused and still brand new
all over the streets
She touched her lips to make sure she's wearing them
She had rings too
and so many wrinkles
then there were some smiles piled up in a puddle
She bent to take off her boots
and let her toes touch some
they were cold and wet
She started a vague monologue
to make her bear the city
she was bored with
She wanted to leave
she let other smiles
took her cigarettes
suddenly she realized
a sad face there was
a stony face but he was sad
as if he was not made of stone
with no smile but with a mask
She detected a slight wrinkle under the mask
and a monologue to bear the city too
she told to herself oh God we would make more and more wrinkles
and bear the city till the train comes
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 4:35 PM UTC
Acts of love save.
They save from evil
from envy
from suffering
from disturbing memories.
Only acts of love save.
From the nightmarish and stagnant life.
From anxieties
from unnecessary tears.
Acts of love save.
From words that hurts
from the fiend of insomnia.
From self-flagellation.
From monotony and emptiness.
Only love saves you
from sadness lagoon
from yourself.
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 1:07 AM UTC
She says he wasn’t good enough.
He wasn’t worth it.
I try to convince myself
she’s right,
that he’d pay attention
if he were worth anything
but that’s a nicety,
an obvious misconception.
There must be
something wrong with me.
There must be
some things wrong with me.
Somethings wrongs with me.
If there wasn’t, he would like me.
or text me back.
He won’t text me back.
She says he doesn’t want to look desperate.
So I am searching, desperately,
for the words I said
the words I forget
that turned him off.
Was it because we had ***
He said it wouldn’t change anything.
He said he had always liked me.
He said what he had to
to get me in his bed,
and now there's no text,
no call,
I don't see him,
hear him,
feel him,
but somehow I can't move on.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
I hate myself
No really, I mean it.
I know you don't believe me for how often that I say it
But I'm stuck with my thoughts who claim it.
They tell me I'm not good enough
Too stupid to think
Go ahead grab another drink
and forget who you are cos you know you won't get very far
With this disease that has consumed you.
But this can't be diagnosed
And there's no cure to be found
So go on and tell yourself just how weak you are
Cos it's all in your head
When you say you want to be dead.
They call it self-loathing, and it's the greatest fear I've know
The darkest spots my mind takes me to
Why are all the artists the sad ones?
We feel your pain and then create
While carrying the burden of our own.
I shouldn't have said anything
No one listens to an artist for they have nothing to say
A poet rambles while general discourse fill the spaces
And I am left alone in my head
With the original thought that prompted this piece
I wished I was dead.
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 1:14 PM UTC
the art of poetry
like any art
produces better work
when writers are not only
erudite but also smart
the lovers' painful state
upon loss or desertion
is voiced much more impressively
with less dramatic flourish
and more of the grate
that finishes the sword
at the old blacksmith's fire
where the hot flame of our desire
thrown into water
with a defiant hiss
turns into deadly steel
ready to **** and ******
friend or foe or lover
in our desperate search
for exits from the mire
or take the unexpected loss
of victory that seemed so close
on a wild battlefield
when suddenly the hero's gallant steed
falls victim to a hostile archers shot
and its proud rider is reduced to shout
"A kingdom for a horse!"
rather than holding a long monologue
about the treachery of fate
in short
less is oft' more
and lets the readers fill the empty spaces
with their own images and graces
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 5:23 PM UTC
day through night, i face the same fate
my flesh inches closer to its expiry date.
a hell:
my mind is at its limit,
and my body; no longer mine.
each minute goes by, i pray to gods,
every holy name, those i've never heard of,
pray, pray with all my might -
choose a different girl to feast on tonight.
my face was stolen from a world of debris
to support a family i'll never again see
i sold myself, let me be bought,
for just two coins, a price of naught.
a customer.
i tell myself,
don't open your eyes,
don't move a muscle.
hands on my thighs - deja vu
my body to her is just revenue.
memories of every night still live within my body - a bookmark telling me i'll never be my own. a constant image of flesh flickers behind my eyelids every time i close my eyes.
give me my body back.
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 11:49 PM UTC
My work day woke to Monk,
the click of typing keys,
clock watched, Spotify playing,
random thoughts rose like bees
to freeze in these jagged lines,
then swarm in threatening flight.
Hours of data entry later,
on a stool, in a bar, a clock's
hands tock, I flick a wrist,
and slur my words concluding
an anguished monologue,
“They call it work, you know.”
Awash at home, in the strobe of
pixelated panel light,
visions surge and dissipate
with the pulse of the night. Osip,
were you tempered to embrace
attention’s fugitive caress?
You etched memory’s texture
with candle soot for ink,
and the gulag’s blackened gaze -
I type lines by hunt and peck
humming Monk’s WELL YOU NEEDN’T,
hoping for an adequate phrase.
Copyright © 2004 Gary Brocks
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 10:38 PM UTC
"You call this good service!? Why you little twit, let me speak to your manager! No, I don't want anything deducted from the bill, I want to speak to your manager RIGHT NOW! So, you're the manager? Well, your daft, twit of a waiter messed up our order THREE TIMES! I DON'T CARE if it's his first day! I WANT YOU TO FIRE HIM!"
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 4:01 PM UTC
(Hypnos- God of Sleep
Eros- God of Love
Nyx- Goddess of Night)
ME:
I closed my eyes
And met 3 strangers
Whose names I knew but,
Could not express.
They stood with grace and prowess,
Each one grander than the next.
They petitioned me to ask them,
Anything at all,
So I asked them about dreams,
Given to us by gods.
HYPNOS:
A weak internal monologue,
Lapsing into night.
They sleep and breathe
So slowly,
They sleep; and breathe so deep.
EROS:
Their dreams I clouded,
Tinged, with crimson haze.
They long for one another,
They long;
To find each other.
NYX:
The dream ends now!
As my darkness overwhelms.
They no longer need to think,
They drink;
As to forget.
ME:
Pretence keeps up my dreaming,
Innerspeaker of my thoughts,
Past tense reveals it all:
Groundskeeper
To my soul.
An arrow from your quivers
Surely would do the job,
Of a thousand
Quarts of liqour
Or novocaine, or god.
NYX:
When you see light
You will see clearly,
The truth of misery.
Though I know nothing of such light,
The darkness lives in me.
EROS:
Soon your day will come,
To feel as all the rest.
The burning fire of passion,
Bellowing wild,
A fire without smoke.
HYPNOS:
And now as you awake,
Arise! Dear sir, go forth,
Knowing of what you learned,
In this episode,
This dream.
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 5:50 PM UTC
The youth
Youth is weird,
Somewhat interesting.
An adult pop rock mix
With child soda pop.
Youth is Coca-Cola,
Marlboro, whiskey and energy,
The eternal monologue of life,
ID number, property tax and Netflix.
Youth is John Lennon,
Che, Fidel and Hendrix,
Contemporary history,
ancient and medieval history.
Youth is pants ripped jeans,
Popsicle, lollipop, painted face,
Chicle, coffee and french fries,
Point G, miniskirt and condoms.
Youth is the Dalai Lama,
Techno, rave and rasta,
Drugs, drops and guitar,
Punk, samba and hopefully that-fall.
Youth is the opposite of the opposite,
It's a Friday at midnight,
Mustard, ketchup and mayonnaise,
X-salad, ham and cheese sandwich and X-men.
Youth is D-Day,
Vietnam, Hiroshima and Nagasaki,
Testosterone, Woodstock and Waterloo,
Afghanistan, TPM and MTV.
Youth is a pressure cooker,
Isis, Syria, sukiyaki,
Anonymous, Al Qaeda, rice and beans,
Genesis, Revelation and mint candy.
Youth is weird,
Somewhat interesting.
An adult pop rock mix
With child soda pop.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 7:25 AM UTC
That's it I'm leaving this time
..................................................Oh but I love him so much
I can't stay here it's suicide
..................................................Look at his face his eyes his lips…
I gotta be strong now
.................................................I'm so weak his arms are calling my name
I can still smell her on him
I'm leaving
..............................................No impossible…I'll leave next time
You always say that
...............................................Maybe one day he'll open his eyes and
...............................................See me bleed.
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 11:17 AM UTC
*concerning the pop. narrative -
i'm a wordsmith after all -
someone gives me the raw materials
of islam and (a rainbow) of affixing -phobia
and i can't seem to hammer
the **** thing into shape...
it's, foremostly: a pseudo-phobia.
a misnomer of the phobia compound.*
for a people who have an "irrational" fear
of islam, it seems strange that the same
people gave birth to some form of rationality -
let's just call it islamophobia
not an irrational fear - but rather:
and irritation -
the irritable fear of being suddenly forced
into the extremities of living the daily life -
when something unexpected happens -
mind you, the people who have been forced
into these situations: stop their want
for adrenaline in a base jump, from an aeroplane,
or bungee jump off a bridge.
islamophobia is not a "phobia" as such,
it's not irrational - it's just irritating -
but then again you don't actually believe
a spider to be a irrational creature (arachnophobia),
you don't believe an open space with lots of people
(agoraphobia)
to be an irrational circumstance -
you're facing yourself being irrational in
both circumstances -
since the phobia hides an actual rationale -
islam?
that's much harder - since you're
being "irrational" while someone is actually
being "rational" -
when in fact there's no escaping
that contra of you being "rational"
and the muslim being "irrational" -
not one side is either rational or irrational:
the spider and the open space filled
with people already stated:
you're being irrational;
the fear of spiders is irrational -
but there is no rationality from the perspective
of the spider: what does a spider
know about rationality? jackshit!
there is no such thing as islamophobia:
because you're not being irrational about
what has its own rationality -
its own monologue and intra-dialogue...
whoever coined this stupid word
is as dumb as their rationality allows them
to make enough people use it;
it's only an irrational fear: if there is no
rationale behind it;
point being: there's rationale behind islam,
ergo there is no such thing as
islamophobia.
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 7:08 PM UTC
My creativity has created this creation.
The outcome of my creation reflects only to the Creator.
The inner Narrator narrates a repetitive monologue.
Believe me, I've seen the films, and I've read that ******* blog.
Long logging of nights.
Internal.
External.
Fights.
Anger lasts.
I employed that past to take power away from fear.
Aware now of being here.
Consciousness.
Humbleness.
This doesn't come from admission.
Remission of a previous mission.
My dispositions constriction from speaking up.
**** that.
That cup.
That rig.
Spoon.
***
Drug.
Love is what I need.
Love is what I give.
Creating only a creation to love to live.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 10:44 AM UTC
This is my mono-monologue.
I stand alone befoe the world,
My lonely clean white flag unfurled,
Wondering when the winter sky
Will melt my wings and let my fly.
Perched upon a mountaintop
With not a soul in sight
"When will my isolation stop?"
I cry with all my might.
This is my mono-monologue.
The wind whispers
What I hoped I'd never know:
"You are so far away from them
Because you are below.
"But maybe you are
The one who lives above.
Maybe that is why
You never could be loved."
This is my mono-monologue.
I've lived a shunned life
(It can be hard to see)
Although I haven't felt much strife,
My freedom's far from free.
I do not truly know
What you mean by 'best friend'.
I'm fated to live alone
Until the very end.
This is my mono-monologue.
Jul 7, 2019
Jul 7, 2019 at 11:51 PM UTC
My ****** is tired.
Tired of having to explain why she wants to be left alone,
Tired of men thinking they are entitled to her simply because they buy her things,
Tired of women who shame and police her,
Tired of being commodified,
My ****** is just...tired.
My ****** does not owe anyone ***
She will take up arms to protect her agency and have it recognised,
She will let whomever she chooses inside her,
She will most certainly not explain her decisions to a soul,
My ****** does not owe anyone ***
My ****** will not alter herself for a man's pleasure.
She defines beauty and serves other worldly aesthetics,
She is a queen who possesses the ability to make you see God with her warmth,
My ****** will not alter herself for a man's pleasure.
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 5:36 PM UTC
Hey, I don't know if you know this, but I'm a hopeless romantic. actually, I'm a hopeful romantic, and I'm hopelessly in love with you.
I hope you can hear me because I sit here every night before bed and pray for our dreams to come true... but, I hardly ever see you... and you're so far away. Every night I look in the sky in the hopes to glimpse your shadow; but, only the stars twinkle back at me.
Peter Pan, I love you. Take me with you on your adventures! I want to live with you in your world.
You came and swept me off my feet and took me to our own Neverland. We climbed rocks and we were as tall as the mountains. We grew together and I want to grow with you forever. I'll be the second star on your right hand side and we shall be the flame that will shine brighter than any other. I know we will.
I know we will because I trust in us. I trust in you. Do you hear me? It doesn't really matter if you're here - I know you hear me. I know you know how I feel and I know you feel the same.
I've learned a lot about myself since you left and I don't really like what I'm seeing. I am learning to take what you've taught me so I can be the best person I can be. I'm learning.
I promise you, my love, I will love myself before your return. I promise I will always be loyal because I know that honesty is key. I promise to protect my own flame from the winds of others - just as you told me to.
It is your heart and soul that doesn't age but only grows wiser, because you're you... Peter Pan, and I'm your Lost Boy.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 9:19 PM UTC