"ordinariness" poems
In times of clarity, or perhaps
Moments of weakness
(Depending on one's perspective)
My greatest fear, I think,
Is that of dying without achieving
Anything worthy of mention.
The idea of being so ordinary
That your death
(or rather, your life)
Will be rapidly evaporated
from the earth's memory
Like light rain on a molten tarmac afternoon.
But you, at least on a mentally strong day,
Delude yourself with bursts of creativity:
Poetry, film, ideas of grandeur,
All of which persuade you that either
You will not die for a long time,
Or you will someday soon achieve.
This thought is comforting
And all is well.
Until one day you are having
A particularly busy teaching day,
And you rush to the usual spot
To grab a regular taste of Dublin life,
And order your chicken fillet roll:
Lifeblood of an Irish working-man's lunch,
And you eat while you walk -
Both briskly to save time before
Rejoining the rich children.
And the slobbering mouthful of
Delightful chicken baguette
Casts taco sauce from its grasp,
And dribbles down your pubey beard.
You stop and take a finger to it,
Knowing full well that the damage is
Done and that those hairs will grip
To the smell of taco sauce until
The drain tastes their defeat after
A particularly overzealous shower.
And it is in that moment,
With finger and beard stained with
The orange-tinged blood of a chicken fillet roll,
That your ordinariness and worthlessness become apparent
And it destroys you...
Because you always thought taco sauce was spicy.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
We’ve accepted that we’re already dead.
Like the soldier
Like the victim
No, the veteran of love
(and subsequent heartbreak)
We’ve accepted we’re already dead
So we can keep on living.
I was broken.
No longer working
No longer dreaming
No longer wanting
Pushing away
The hands that tried to help me
The encounters that didn’t last broke me.
I was embattled.
In the trenches of my own existence.
Those we met
Under picture-perfect circumstances
When we thought utopia could be real
woefully disproved this theory.
Rude awakening to what agony feels like
And sleeping all day so we could self-medicate
all night.
Self-medicating with ***** and cigarettes
Not because we needed to but
For respite
For the moment
For a friend in the bottle
Or the lighter.
Life is war
Survival is the only option
Death, inevitable and imminent
We are the ones in the ring
We have lived here
We will die here.
There are those who are weak
Succumbing to the needles
The tap tap tap on veins
Or worse
Ordinariness
Boring as the 8x11’s
found in printers
All around the world.
I will not be ordinary.
Surrender is not an option.
Because I am a gladiator
I have adapted.
I’m still in the ring
But I will defend myself now.
They are the lions;
The king of their race
But I
I am a gladiator in a Gap V-Neck Tee shirt.
I will die with love in my heart,
Belief in my soul
My ashes will spell out the word Hope.
Nothing will break me ever again.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 2:58 PM UTC
As the beautiful leaves
upon high bristled trees
must fall as fall turn winter
we must, as time comes
fall over and die
but we shan't do it alone-
yes... together
for we must die
and while many years shall go by
until we must think of such things
we need not mourn this fate
this ominous end, this opening gate
for just being allowed to die
makes us lucky
for the number of people unborn
the acceptance of existence- torn
shadows any number we could see
more than the grains of sand
in the sahara, and
more than the fishes in the sea
and of those unborn ghosts
are greater poets, better hosts
better scientists, never to put on lab coats
when thinking of the billions
that could be here replacing the millions
making our existences seem small and meek
against these stupefying odds
you and I, no scourge of the gods
in all our ordinariness
well we...
we are the lucky ones.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 11:40 PM UTC
I want to pick out wallpaper with you.
I want to laugh
While we're in the grocery store
Deciding what to make for dinner.
I want to fall asleep ten minutes into the movie
Wrapped in your arms
No makeup, no clothes, no worries.
It seems
Such a grownup way to want someone,
Such a different way to love.
But
I have been searching my whole life
For a way to exist in this world.
This ordinary, mundane world
This place I've done much to escape from and to
Dream
My way out of.
I remember once I wrote a poem
About how big things don't **** you,
Small things do.
I said people turn to ash as life wears them away
And crumble into their morning cereal.
The mundanities of life
Seemed killers to me.
But you...
You bring joy to every ordinary moment.
I already know the beauties of this world well.
I stop and make myself see them.
It is the dullness I've neglected, the little boring things--
I've never gotten to treasure ordinariness.
I've always had to slip past moments of silence like a shadow, hoping not to linger long enough to feel lonely.
You have opened up
Half the world for me.
You have given me the freedom to look forward to
Every shopping trip
Every chore
Every lazy Sunday.
Things that let my demons out before
Now I can treasure them,
Now you've let the sun in on them
And I don't know if you'll understand how incredible that is when you read this poem
But I can assure you
...It's the best.
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 11:05 PM UTC
water's gravity
moors me to this dome's prison.
washing me to plush blue
is the dream of hands
that puts me out of my sleep's premises.
the bane of existence tingles
the flesh and the suds rise
altogether with the squalor
of its own meaning.
my old hue languishes into
a burgeon of slosh and no friction
nor word could rupture me anymore.
and the scent dangles
mid-air, where all perfumes are born, with sorry fountainheads
peaking through the ordeal
of this sonata.
water makes music with skin
as froth takes to sea, the exhaustion of brine -
all disquiet in foreword
and finality
hung clean, in the backyard
of ordinariness, of consummate asepsis and its breakable concepts,
ready to be worn out
by a day's grime and back to
its fate once more, all of us.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 1:44 AM UTC
You ask me how I find the time,
But time is not the issue,
For they, are all prepared, needing only recognition,
For they, are all in readiness, needing only composition
I see a toddler swaying, see him to disaster lurching,
Somehow avoided with last second seer-like swerving,
Ten times in a ten foot walk across a patio,
My eyes code red at the incredible risk/reward ratio,
It is nature at it most incredible, miraculous, ordinariness
A young girl of ten wears a pocketbook across her forearm,
In the style of an elderly woman, as she plays with Barbie,
Tho her body immature, her psyche, says note my
Iconology, her accoutrement, texts a message subtly,
I am preteen, I am near woman, treat me accordingly
Dueling iPads in bed is a poem in my head,
rhymes accurate of screen reflections of an
X factor that stimulates my cerebral cortex.
Verbal ointment that I posses can't fix a flat tire,
but sets me up for a personal review, self awareness
Gone mad and with finger, on gas station floor,
In the grime, words are realized/written concretely,
what my heart speaks freely
Within each day, miracles present themselves,
Gauntlets thrown, note them well and be justified,
Visions, external to my physical self,
Yet product of internal chemical reactions
That blow through my veins, swirling,
Word leaves, on a November weekend,
Windswept from a thousand directions,
So you ask me how I find the time,
The question proper be amended,
How do the times find me,
How do I know them,
And why, do I share them
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 1:14 PM UTC
“Aren’t we just like curtains?” I say
“How?” you ask
Well, curtains
We never really appreciate them
Until they’re gone
Not until we feel the bustling heat
Penetrate our skins during summer
Or when we can no longer hide ourselves
From the light and the world around us
When we’re already too tired to deal
With anyone, really
Because we took off
Those **** curtains
We speak of lines that spell diamonds
Majestic cars and palaces
But we fail to realize how this ordinary object
Can make a whole difference whenever
We wake up in morning
Sitting in bed, tiredly remembering what
We were going to do today
A small choice, packed with a lot of meaning
Whether we want to stay inside
Or go out and meet the world
Serving as a doorway
To the possibilities each day brings
These curtains show us the days worth living (and hiding from, if that's what you want)
And if you don’t find that ordinariness beautiful
If you don't find those moments where we stand up and try to survive the long day ahead of us
Often just waiting to see those familiar curtains again amazing
Nor can you see how curtain-like we all actually are
Then try having no curtains for a day
And see what I mean
Jul 10, 2020
Jul 10, 2020 at 8:04 AM UTC
The extraordinary man
woke up as ordinary
as a ***** shirt,
checked his horoscope
which told him
to go back to bed.
He ignored it like
a weather report
just as often
wrong as right.
His coffee tasted
flat as ironed dreams.
The world
appeared unchanged.
But he was exhilarated.
He reveled in his
new ordinariness.
It hinted at a rebirth
of possibilities:
new boots, new roads,
a new moon
at which to howl.
A new way to be
in the same world,
but reborn.
An unspoken prayer
somehow answered.
Nothing is
ever over
until it is.
~mce
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 1:04 PM UTC
Glimpses of memories from a past life
Shadows of my yesterday hanging on my walls, like spiderwebs
The wild intoxicated air has faded away
My living room smells like ordinariness and spring now
Trying to catch old feelings, like a fever
What would I give to feel what I used to feel again
We were not just stars, we were a galaxy
The electric feeling, the heat, the rush
My dilated eyes, my dehydrated body moving and moving
And moving
The shaking fingers, the thirst, the mass oh the overwhelming mass of feelings
Feeling both excited and angry at the same time
Feeling it all, ever so intensely
Tasting love, hatred, rage and despair
My body was a boiling *** of sensations
It was raw and real
It was us, the big city and the night sky
It was us standing on the roof
We didn’t care if we will fall
We didn’t care if we will fly
We dived into the dark black night so deep we forgot about the concept of time and space
It was like ripping out the stars with our bare hands
It was like swallowing an ocean
Sometimes it was an attempt to drown
Sometimes we let the waves carry us away
Sometimes we became the waves
Now it is only me, sitting here, alone, in my living room
Trying to find purpose in zoom meetings, writing emails and harvesting my own chilies.
Not sure whether the pills make me numb
Or let me feel again
Because it’s all the same to me
The night sky is not black anymore, it’s grey
There are no more oceans to drown in anymore
I am wearing a life vest now
These pills are different
They don’t taste like life or energy
They taste like defeat and surrender
It was May when you passed over
From this life onto another
Dividing yours and mine into two seasons
warm summer nights with you
cold winter days alone
Taking with you my ability to feel
Taking with you my boldness
Taking with you my appetite
Mar 26, 2021
Mar 26, 2021 at 1:40 PM UTC
All this time I had thought
it was rock versus air
and then came the day
we exchanged names,
because there was no other way
because all those others we adored
were no less than infinite
and you cannot trap sunlight
in your hands.
Our communion was instinct,
a song from the deepest cave
and our love is like the friction
of bowstring against violin,
there as long as green vines
continue to crawl up bricks.
There as long as the cynics
ignore the saws of radiant light
that cut through the fault lines
of their enemies skin.
Our love is the final resort
of metaphors, the place they go
to rest in peace, the farmers
overalls. You greet me
without a smile, at your front door,
paint chipped, hair that tells the story
of your difficult day and I remind myself
that means and ends
are both offspring and kin.
We met like they all do, second
glances, eyes wearing the best
kind of suspicion, an exchange
of names, insidious
and innocent.
Today I encountered the most holy
of holies, all cloaked in ordinariness,
sawdust, flowers, and paper clips,
and our love is like any other,
making us feel as though
that we are the last
to witness it .
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 7:38 PM UTC
She wore endurance as a cloak.
Tried ever so sorely and wrongly,
she committed all to the Vindicator.
In her resolute quietness, she spoke volumes.
For her ardent disparagers,
her payback was tireless hours of intercession.
As she stoically embraced undeserved tribulations,
she gained character, wisdom, and tranquility.
Who dares put out the brilliance of a star?
Her sublimity resonates evermore in the
darkest patch of the night.
Though seared with scars,
her stellar virtues are glaring,
illuminating hearts and inspiring minds.
She can’t feign ordinariness,
even if she hides behind her own shadow.
Detached from a frenzied world,
she derived her essence from heavenly fire.
Oh, had they known the fount from whence she drank,
they would not have, in malignity,
ensnared their own souls
in a bid to put out her luminous radiance.
They have murdered sleep through their ignoble gestures.
Behold the star as she abides in the firmaments!
Purified by the trials and tribulations,
she stoically endures and thrives.
The sky may be bespangled with twinkling stars,
but her brilliance stands out in luminary distinction.
Sep 23, 2020
Sep 23, 2020 at 8:11 PM UTC
We are going
To die and
That makes us
The lucky ones
In the teeth
Of these
Stupefying
Odds, it is
You and I
In our
Ordinariness
That are here
The needle won't
Reach the record
And that's ok
We reach for
What to say
As the silence
Grows too strong
Yet nothing ever
Remains within
Forever is
Far too long
Apr 15, 2024
Apr 15, 2024 at 10:34 AM UTC
***You ask me how I find the time,
But time is not the issue,
For they, are all prepared, needing only recognition,
For they, are all in readiness, needing only composition***
I see a toddler swaying, see him to disaster lurching,
Somehow avoided with last second seer-like swerving,
Ten times in a ten foot walk across a pool's patio,
My eyes code red at the incredible risk/reward ratio,
It is nature at it most incredible, miraculous ordinariness
A young girl of ten wears a pocketbook across her forearm,
In the style of an elderly woman, as she plays with Barbie,
Tho her body immature, her psyche, says note my
Iconology, her accoutrement, texts a message subtly,
I am preteen, I am near woman, treat me accordingly
Dueling iPads in bed is a poem in my head,
rhymes accurate of screen reflections of an
X factor that stimulates my cerebral cortex
Verbal ointment that I posses can't fix a flat tire,
yet sets me up for a personal review, a self awareness,
Gone mad, I am, and with finger, on a gas station floor,
In the grime, words are realized/written concretely,
what my heart speaks freely
Within each day, miracles present themselves,
Gauntlets thrown, note them well and be justified,
Visions, external to my physical self,
Yet product of internal chemical reactions
That blow through my veins, swirling,
Word leaves, on a November weekend,
Windswept from a thousand directions,
***So you ask me how I find the time,
The question proper be amended,
How do the times find me,
How do I know them,
And why, do I share them***
<>
May 21, 2013
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 5:54 PM UTC
I was skeptical of you at first
Simply because my wandering eyes haven't met yours prior.
But after we were introduced that one Tuesday morning, I noticed you all the more.
I wasn't sure what my feelings were those first days,
And I still didn't know after a week or two.
But I began to realize it slowly
When I would smile absentmindedly when I was alone, or when I would look at the clock when all the digits matched and I didn't know what to wish for.
Or that late night I saw a star fall, and I just wished for us. Or when my favorite color became your eyes.
I chastise myself for not holding your hand, for not leaning against you, for not showing my affection.
Now I realize the little things I miss. The unusual ordinariness which your existence depended on.
I miss you complaining about the sport you play but hate. I miss you geeking out over your favorite comics.
I won't forget my favorite night. When we just sat in the car and talked about nothing and anything. When I hummed along to a song you said you weren't sure you liked, but you hummed too. When you remembered something I said, and I looked at you in awe.
I miss the night where my feelings blossomed, when I began to be comfortable, when I knew what I wanted. I wanted the tall skinny smart guy who was adorably awkward.
I don't blame you for wanting another over me.
I wouldn't want me either.
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 11:37 AM UTC
Pretentiousness drenches us like an insecure rain
Hiding our lack of intelligence, our dull wit, our bland ordinariness
That suggests we're nothing but grain
In a bronze field of millions of other strands, the same.
That try so hard to understand, but do not retain.
Moving back and forth in the wind from another field
Better than us, but we arrogantly refuse to see, let alone yield.
Reading Ulysses, Dylan Thomas, Catcher in the Rye
Used to be different and genius, but everyone made it so dry
With their 'brilliant' interpretations, or contrived relation
Claiming themselves as the people the pages always cried.
They degraded works that used to give those genuine elation.
There is nothing as sad as watching words disintegrate into a lie.
And there's nothing as disgusting than those who swallow the ink
Regurgitating the letters into what they try to believe is their natural drink
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 7:15 PM UTC
While the purple martin
Sings his dawn song
The bush crickets
With their scraping chirps
Form a washboard percussion
Beneath an orchestra
Of crinkling goosefoot.
It is not the sobriety of
This great Weald
And the stately occlusal
Of her tall trees
That crowds your soul.
But the ordinariness
Of the things beneath it
That make you want
To find your own voice.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 8:31 PM UTC
I earned your contempt just
because I did not march to your music.
You sentenced me to hell
because I did not sing with you.
You even questioned my social philosophy
and even my religious conviction.
I will not ever return the hate and the contempt.
But however many holy words you speak, read, write and believe; it is useless unless you value human service and kindness.
To teach, to help a stray animal, to smile and assist a stranger, to work for your family, to plant trees, to give to the needy—these activities do not need explanation about theology.
Every one of these just needs anyone of us,
as humans—to reach out, to give a lending hand,
to care and to believe in the existence of faith and humanity.
I had mistakes, wrong choices, troubles, failures, losses and fears in the past that taught me lessons and flared my passion
to seek spiritual guidance.
I went astray but I listened to my inner voice that helped me back on track.
I’d still probably be in the darkness had I not known how to cultivate my emotional side.
The guides, the path, the doors
will be different for all of us.
But a lot of our spiritual encounters happen in the ordinariness of our daily life.
My spiritual moments have not just happened when I closed my eyes.
They happened when I cuddled my kindergarten students in school and when I watched the water flows in the river
and the birds sing.
They continue to happen when I do long distance parenting and do
my duty as a mother,
when I smile and greet my neighbors
and even when I admire colors everywhere.
The world has many colors my dear,
beautiful colors and I have the profoundest respect to even the bleakest and the lightless.
Let us be inspired by the plants who come together and thrive peacefully in a garden.
Let’s see beyond our beliefs and differences and embrace each other’s colors and uniqueness to add beauty to our existence.
My friend, the way we give the gifts of faith, humanity, kindness, friendship and love to the people around us is how we save the world.
Sep 23, 2019
Sep 23, 2019 at 6:19 AM UTC
*mind blown up..
heartbeats run faster..
raised eye brows..
volatility in words...
just because of ..
some one...
to whom..
I neither hate...
nor like..*
**I never praise..
Praise to normal work..
capabilities..
commitment to work..
Praise to the extra-ordinariness..
Knowing the capabilities..**
*But the fact is..
little praise…
is proud ridden…
I never wish to hurt ..
though facing disliking..
by all means ..
I always wish ..
To remain calm..
impartial…*
**but in others perception..
always remain partial..…
in need…
In hardships..
depending upon..
individuals Perception..**
*it may lead towards…
positiveness or negativity..
state of mind..
Illusion always misguide..
always remain side by side..
with every one…
you have to make balance..
within the dual minded state..
throughout the life…*
deovrat - 21.04.2015 (c)
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 7:32 AM UTC
on a cold brisk day
following the agonization of my mind
you asked me something quite unforgettable
what brings you joy during your dark days?
i believe my answer was
you see its a mixed assortment of
any flavor of adventure
plane rides to tropical cities
road trips to unacknowledged towns
blasting classic 80’s jukebox tunes
tears for fears / queen / violent femmes
dancing in parking lots with my friends
quaint and unknown coffee shops
driving past state line after state line
autumn blazes lighting up the view
a warm cup of vanilla chamomile tea
cozying up near a fire
to unthaw my frosted nose
my family’s classic movie marathons
popcorn popping in the background
while we soak in the glory of
star wars / james bond /
mission impossible
oh the list goes on and on
you know that
all these beautiful distractions
remind me of the grateful mind
you should possess
for the small blessings
everywhere
step out of the chaos of your mind
appreciate everyday ordinariness
affix yourself in the glory
of the little things in life
i overcame my dark days
in the light of the plainness
of everyday life
plainness shines so brightly
can you see it?
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 12:31 AM UTC
i am the father of these words yet,
these mischievous children
run away in the loquacious dark
chasing lithe-clothed, supple-limbed
girls whirling up and about the prairie
of these versifications without home
in mind or remembering —
(the home of my mind wary of
the past and its old cobwebs,
or the slaughter of ordinariness
with a dull blade poised to cull,
these mindful creatures assassinating
diaphanous muses disrobing themselves,
serpents shedding their integuments.)
oh and when they return home sullied,
after a day's squalid scamper past
the muck, the twitch of atmosphere,
the horizon ladled with clouds
in white metamorphosis, i remove their
clothes and send them to the fences of sleep — impish dream-callers,
yes I am the father of these words
and they flourish, swelling up, learning
to harangue their own father, sending
him to borderless retreat.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 9:08 AM UTC
I come to you again.
Always do.
And sure as eggs,
You’re always here,
Right where I left you.
I bring you the mundanities that weave me together;
I hope they’re beautiful in their ordinariness.
Pointillist.
You know that painting,
The one of the people in the park?
Like that, my mundanities.
Like if I step back one day,
My moments will be arranged into a perfect pattern of great and universal significance.
Having a daughter.
Tasting an orange.
Holding.
Being held.
Writing a little heart song when I should be asleep
The words of my whims dotting the landscape
While the dog smiles and snores at the foot of the bed.
Oh, look, I’ll say.
I see it now.
Dec 5, 2024
Dec 5, 2024 at 12:37 AM UTC
like Jericho of the ancients
my walls have found their matchmate, their shofar,
their holy crumbling disintegration -
have sounded the depth
of my abyssal and penetrable, vaginal soul
I am entered through the desolated and tender crevasse
discovered in the arched vault of my love
which treasures not, nor needs
yet knows ee cummings’ “secret of begin” to the outer
borders of my being, the hidden places of my knowing
the right kind of madness, this
of a rightness and a madness so pure, it stings
the perceptions of ordinariness and
makes of ennui - the sinter of a heated being -
anything but
yet, enter my fornix with dread and awe
lest you vitrify it by atomic waves of sorrow
I am fragile, and tender, gentle, strong and destructive
I am death from Life
and
Life from Death
blow your shofar, Ram, and I shall fall into your gravity
I shall be as Callisto to Jupiter,
an orbit by seduction and a
child wombed in Love
c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater
Oct 29, 2017
Oct 29, 2017 at 11:53 AM UTC
I thought for a moment
about lying
telling them you're doing great,
about all your adventures
and dreams manifested.
Raising goats somewhere near bright water
in a quiet ordinariness
marred only by the occasional bite mark
on a perennial
grown too close to the fence line.
But I told the truth.
I have no idea
and would prefer it remain that way.
Jun 1, 2021
Jun 1, 2021 at 9:59 PM UTC