"overzealous" poems
*Transient happiness
Drought in our heart
Emotionless
Passionless
Love’s an oasis
We are
Weary travelers
Unaware of
The ramifications
Of unloved Earth
Nature’s revolt
Will encage us
Within our faults
Overzealous we are
Perilous future
Awaits us*
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 11:39 PM UTC
Decipher the beautiful
Intricacies
Woven with simplicity
To create the
Most elegant taffeta
Striking hues
And softer feel
Silken moments
Souls glide merrily
Enchanting tales
Laced with yearnings
Shimmering covers
Overzealous hearts
Lustrous symphony
Of rhythmic hearts
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
Your true beauty is seen when I look into your eyes
Beauty that is seen
even by the blind
Beauty that doesn't take much effort for you to show
Beauty that is reflected from deep within your soul
Beauty that can trigger hopes for a mental connection
Beauty that is absolute coincidental perfection
Beauty that could make any goddess jealous
Beauty that could make any mortal overzealous
Beauty like the first flower of the year in full bloom
Beauty that captures the focus of a full room
Beauty that somehow beats all of the odds
Your beauty is a true work of art from our God
True beauty is the repetition of flawless excellence not only in the physical sense but more of a soul sense and I ask myself how is shawty so bad yet she gives my soul a cleanse....she possesses the type of beauty to make any ***** want to cherish her the same way the he should cherish his mother equipped with the beauty to make him only have eyes for her & blind to any other.
Another *** could have a bank account full of money yet he wouldn't pay mind to any other.
Another shorty could be the only one in a room with a watch and he still wouldn't give her the time of day but...shit they say beauty is in the eyes of the beholder and behold-- it is her and her beauty is a work of art like a painting by van gogh or da vinci and she holds the amount beauty to make a ***** say **** I hope she's into me
&
don't mean to offend you mona lisa but
what man wouldn't want to get into ya
inside of you
to glide on you
ride and collide into you
But personally
I'd rather make you *** mentally that's when feelings are true but in a world full of feelings that most of us seem to hide it's hard to reveal your inner beauty when you know it wont be appreciated and I
know you never know what its like to be appreciated
but here I am sitting in the corner of the classroom watching you write notes about a subject that I cant even focus on because
your beauty completely captivates my mind
body and
spirit.
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 6:09 PM UTC
My poor, stupid poodle,
peed on the pedestal
of Cleopatra's needle
on Victoria embankment,
near the Golden Jubilee bridge.
( Oh! I am miserable!
I couldn't stop the debacle)
The poodle's puny misdeed
embarrassed not just me,
but the whole city of Westminster,
as fire alarm rang out loud,
when an overzealous constable
gave a distress signal.
It brought the fire chief himself,
who came rushing to meet
the emergency situation,
thinking the poodle was trying
to put out a fire erupted
on the ancient monument,
once shipped to England,
overcoming great adversities,
from Africa, long back.
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 11:31 PM UTC
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
When Charlie was a young'un with a crayon and some paper
He would scribble til the paper ripped and the crayon turned to vapour
His mother would console him and she'd offer her advice
But just to drive the message home, she'd loudly sing it twice
Follow the lines, my boy, just follow the bleedin' lines
Just pick a side and stay there, always follow the lines
If you're not a fool then fake it
If you show your spine they'll break it
Follow the lines, follow the lines, follow the lines
So when Charlie went to high school, how he tried to walk in stride
But the boredom of geometry provoked his naughty side
His professor would chastise him with a ruler and a cane
And, as an aid to memory, he sang him twice again
Follow the lines, young Charlie, you follow the blasted lines
Give it a try, you'll soon see, never cross over the lines
Don't be smart or play the joker
Aim for mainly mediocre
Follow the lines, follow the lines, follow the lines
When assembling a wardrobe with his Allen key and spanner
He threw himself into his task in an overzealous manner
So when he called his father to report a broken bone
His old man tutted ruefully and sang right down the phone
Follow the lines now Charlie, just follow the ******* lines
Don't improvise or gamble, why didn't you follow the lines
Dodge unnecessary ructions
And adhere to the instructions
Follow the lines, follow the lines, follow the lines
So in time, he raised a family, the lines etched in his head
One day he heard a buzzing from his aging garden shed
As he listened at the planking, how his face was drawn and long
For between the buzz and rustle, squeaked a tiny little song
Follow the lines, buzz-buzz, just follow the buzz-ing lines
Follow the bee before you, just buzz and follow the lines
Find the flowers when it's sunny
Fetch the nectar, make the honey
Follow the lines, follow the lines, follow the lines
Buzz buzz
**
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC
It was rumors
An overzealous starlet
Her name Cassandra
Well-known to critics
Beyond a casting call
Conquering the boulevards
This flaming Diva
Her serpent attitude is her might
For I
Once bitten into poisonous passion
Repeatly stumbling
As her looks proclaim the likes of a darling Dove
Losing a battle that cannot be won
Her graphic representation for apparition
Appeals to men with greater value
Calamity is her weapon of choice
For days upon her roof
I've fallen
To a script
Only meant for fools
Nov 21, 2009
Nov 21, 2009 at 11:22 PM UTC
Thin wire, overzealous leading to being over tired...
an over reliance on the hopes of being reinspired,
The burning thoughts; of a migraine constantly on fire.
Ten thousand shots in my head—__ba, ba, ba, ba,__
swimming over my depths, trying my best to breathe;
all the while in still waters choking my neck. Some live
too long...living a life of the dead.
I'm singing a song, better sounding inside—__la, la, la, la,__
It goes while I'm looking in the mirror, seeing myself and my
self enemy. Who's betting on their works, to seem like a better
version of themself/me?
Letting be of the many ways I try to appear calm in some days.
Hunger in my eyes; starved of the sights of true love.
But the dirtiest intentions, has my face fully covered in mud.
I give and give, but these returns are never enough.
But plenty are the voices in my head, battling constantly—__blah, blah, blah, blah,__ as no-one else hears this cracking glass in my chest.
I figure we're all fragile figures, in the end.
Jul 17, 2022
Jul 17, 2022 at 2:36 PM UTC
They repeatedly boasted aloud
of conquests and victories
for a short period between
their palmy days of youth
and unexpected quick death;
a mad rush of adrenaline
before thought could wake up reason,
nothing more than a basic need
for impulsive violent action,
few drops of poetry could have changed direction,
a death wish triggered by moments of darkness
that invites a chain of tragic consequences.
But thoughtful they were
to hire overzealous writers,
being aware of their need of arming future.
The writers extolled the futile deaths
embellished words, made it look heroic
which really pointed only to a ****** end.
Look at each tomb stones lined
here in the cemetery, once more
see, if the names extolled once are still not eroded.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 1:59 PM UTC
Random Sentences
Everyday people will die,
for a moment, you might cry,
but as yourself why.
Celebrate their life, don't mourn,
think of all the new being born,
life or death, millions are torn.
Earth rotates around the sun,
just try to have some fun,
no fork in me, I'm far from done.
I have yet to get going,
like a strong wind blowing,
the future is always unknowing.
Be yourself, don't be fake,
no one likes a sneaky snake,
open your eyes, it's time to wake.
Smell the flowers, smell the coffee,
unlock your powers, don't be so bossy,
climb those towers, no need for a posse.
Nightmares used to haunt my every move,
no more fears left to prove,
my dreams are starting to improve.
No clue what I'm saying,
don't believe in any praying,
my life, I'm happily portraying.
None of us know the truth,
about how we wasted our youth,
can't remember last time, I saw a telephone booth.
No creative writer is better than me,
I even write, while I take a ***
you're lying if you don't agree.
My haters are just jealous,
I like being so rebellious,
love being so overzealous.
Way too much pollution,
no one has any solution,
that will be my final conclusion.
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
Those names you called me,
That shame I felt.
It's a cycle of fear,
And humiliation.
You put me down,
Then try to bring me up.
You're jealous, overzealous, and sinful,
You're just a beast in human form.
I try to run but just fall down,
For the path is rocky at best.
You chase me down,
And pull me back in.
Say you love me,
Think it will fix everything.
Make it all okay,
Just forget all the problems.
My life isn't my own,
I'm on your leash.
My decisions are yours,
My actions monitored.
You say I can't be friends with him,
That's not okay.
I can't go to the movies,
You're not there.
Lies, deceit, and broken promises,
Chaining you down in a pit of helplessness.
I can't leave you,
I'm scared to.
You threaten, hurt, and cry,
It's not your fault, right?
Right?
I'm not sure anymore.
You say you'll **** yourself,
If I leave you'll end it all.
You put that weight on me,
It's dragging me down.
I'm tethered to a pole, you're beating me down.
Sending me spinning around,
Just to send me the other way.
This needs to end,
The pain needs to stop.
I'm leaving,
I'm done.
Goodbye,
So long.
Mitchell S. Bartlett
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 12:52 PM UTC
in my obliviousness
inadvertent and unintentional
some may say as usual
i disturbed a wasp nest
the heightened bombilation
an anger-pitched droning
unheard somehow
therefore unheeded
until that impolite *****
a warning sting
through t-shirt to torso
followed by a few more
in quick succession
set my legs moving
apologetically away
with hands raised
chastened and contrite
both in supplication
and in order to remove
the offending article
of clothing
the oversensitive wasp
having become trapped within
defensively stinging
as nature directs
to be honest
its overzealous instincts
began to feel
more like spite
than mere survival
Aug 24, 2023
Aug 24, 2023 at 11:52 AM UTC
You need sunglasses when your staring at me
Cause the light I emanate scars the retina of my enemies
There is no cure for the blindness you will endure
A pain perpetuated by the ignorance so perniciously procured
Squared against an inevitable death I easily steal your breath from the barrel of my Smith and Wess
Watching your hollow tears bleed on the canvas I project
a cataclysmic disaster wrapped up in a dismal death
We sit here at the pinnacle of our lives speaking in shadows
Masking our mouths from what we oblige
Stop and listen to the earth as it decries
The subtle architecture of this worldly demise
So as we kick back and sorely reside
I’ll be the change in the coming tide
Caged inside tortured flesh I search for rest to keep the human condition suppressed
But all I find each time that I design a new quest I become a servant of death
Invigorated by the test I stretch my consciousness to tear the limbs off your chest and beat you senseless
I won’t stop there, I’ll slit the throat leaving you without hope and then drown it in Everclear
While I may seem like a cynic
I’m not through with these gimmicks
Lacerating your heart with the bones I striped from your tendons
I’m not an advocate of violence but
Sometimes the pilot of peace needs to be reached by setting loose the destruction we inherently seek
We sit here at the pinnacle of our lives speaking in shadows
Masking our mouths from what we oblige
Stop and listen to the earth as it decries
The subtle architecture of this worldly demise
And I’ll hide my words with silence
And I’ll no longer become violent
Just another subservient machine lost in a sea of tyrants
I won’t be blunt here I’ll keep dropping metaphorical bombs onto your ears
Until all my peers understand the imminent plan that needs to be adhered:
Stop short cause change is impossible to purport
Don’t dream cause it’ll get shattered with a corporate hammer
Stay sinking in a world that raises a stagnant banner
Assimilate with the overzealous overweight materialism that manifests in the minds of the poor and is perpetuated by strip malls and ******
Mar 20, 2010
Mar 20, 2010 at 7:21 PM UTC
Why can't my liver filter thoughts like it does with alcohol?
It would save me the trouble of all the money I've spent to free myself of bad decisions,
There is so much formality within a sober moment, while my drunkenness speaks freely,
My brain doesn't erase moments like alcohol does, yet my liver puts up a fight reminding me to think,
Fantasizing over an image created by theses slurred and blurred overzealous eyes,
I am attracted to bars like teachers are to mls style, and to this day I'm still not sure which one has been more beneficial.
Looking down the road of allowing glass, I measured my state of mind to pick my poison,
Tequila adds a flower to a withering soul, ***** snuffs out the light where it gets to bold, whiskey fakes the fight with its bros, while gin loosens the bones and wine your emotions, at last we have beer a truth serum more powerful than love,
What they all take is feeling, a small price to learning what we see in the refection is really something we refuse to collude with.
My liver is always amazed, the amount of control I give to it, whilst the hand with a drink in it stays steady,
The other acquires shame, controlled by a freedom of released inhibitions,
If I could escape the safety of the dinner lights for the missing love that I thought drive me here,
My liver is alone, in the battle, like one soldier who's realized that their command center threw them into a death trap and their enemies are mindless zombies of fallen memories,
My toast is not alone, followed by smiles and condolences, significant enough to convince everyone, maybe one more.
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 4:04 PM UTC
Bad poetry makes me ugly:
Look, each line, a cliche
Each blemish, a simile;
My smile grows more bitingly smug
With each overzealous superlative.
My raccoon eyes are ringed
By metaphorical self delusions,
Badly performing alliteration-
All improvisations of incompetence;
And then the clash of symbol, deranges all thought.
Choose only the wound that is in your heart
That you would earnestly enlarge upon,
Steadfastly ignoring all the others.
Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 10:52 AM UTC
At low of night she strokes
Familiar tastes exquisite,
And quietly invokes
The spirit of laureate --
An orphic instrument
Unfit to take for granted.
It’s profound atonement
Stirs in her heart despondent.
Her fragile shell’s embrace
Of wood and gut and metal
Point out her shallow race
And weakness fundamental.
Yet all the night she moils,
Mistrusting augmentation,
And secretly despoils
The overzealous beacon.
-- Kerry Herrmann
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 5:20 PM UTC
im am now undesirably happy
I was once desirably unhappy
but with sadness came comfort
self pity became my favorite sweater
and now overzealous joy is the cardigan I thought I would never wear
in the back of my closet, where I wish it would have stayed
change came in every season
winter was now spring
how I longed for the snow
underneath my sorrow was ability
ability to understand
now understanding slowly slipped
from my finger tips
so do not gaze at me with a confused and disapproving glare
while you sip from your every morning coffee
containing precisely three sugars
and two creams
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 12:46 PM UTC
you're not half bad
at your candlewick blossom snuffing -
got your braggart game up loud
in your repetitive silence
beaming at the doting strange phoenixes
darting in between your
bending fingers,
snatching up my flames
in their return to their
static progress on
life skills that are lingering
far too long
in the forging stage.
baby, baby
please -
tell me those aren't
your voices
slithering up the tall
columns of echoes,
wailing out
overzealous,
too pompous
orations.
nevermind -
my mind's pretending
to sleep somewhere marvellous
in this mind-field
of
the littlest
pink *******
trying to act like
i don't suddenly feel
as if
the tomorrow
up next
will be bringing
a different star.
so i just sit here -
pointing my toes at occurrences
that i really wish had've gone down
a whole lot more
differently,
praying that
by some miracle,
tossing a bit of dust
from my careful bag
(paired with the experimental
levitational practices
i keep doing in my free time)
will somehow
make room
for all these
eggshells you won't stop
throwing onto the floor.
too many have found me
playing patty-cake
under that possessed streetlamp
down Hardy,
the one that always seems to flicker
when i walk by -
snatching back its potency
just long enough
to highlight the
unsolicited red apple ritual
happening in my
cheekbones.
i've got a game to catch.
not trying to be the dawdling girl,
throwing all of her hopes
into the air,
willing the destined one
to be something that will
cradle us both.
you gotta be on this
wick snuffing trip
searching for something a little more than
a butt-tossing buddy.
better get a pack of matches
and try to beat me to it,
'cause i'm putting up my fire-red can
and the light's gonna follow me out.
Aug 31, 2011
Aug 31, 2011 at 12:21 AM UTC
how do i look at myself
and say
"this is okay.
the way you feel,
the way you think,
is okay."
how do i stop
telling myself
that i've always been
and will always be
too much?
can i change the way
i feel about myself
without changing
who i am?
can i learn
to appreciate my bleeding heart
and overzealous mind?
god
please tell me
that this is how you made me
and that how i am
is okay to be.
god
touch my heart
and heal my eyes
so that i am at peace
with all the things
i can't stand to be.
how do i stop
wishing that everything
about me was different?
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 9:23 PM UTC
We often seek answers
To questions
Which should have never been asked
Ever since Eve ate the apple
The world has been
Afflicted
With whats seen as knowledge
And the curse of Pandoras box
Unleashed upon the world
A ravishing hunger
To capture questions
That as ignorant humans
We should never control
What we call intellect
Is an overzealous need for power
And we mistake knowledge
For answers to the mundane
Life would be so much simpler
If curiosity wained
And we never
Began asking unnecessary questions
In the first place
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 6:14 PM UTC
Thy overzealous, sustained presumption
is akin to this, my long-seeded indignation.
Thy seemingly effortless pretension
and blatant disregard for implication
creates quite the hypocritical situation
seemingly devoid of deliberation.
Thy egotistical ostentation
does not evade much observation;
this is thy choice, such alienation:
I anticipate resentful perturbation.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 2:33 PM UTC
To accept knowing
Is not knowing
But still knowing some
Is enough
To know life and
Not know life
Seeing the creases
Of the newspaper
The *** rests his weary
Head on
Is enough
To see breath enter
Escape the broken body
Of a young boy
Ignorant to the facts of the world
That surround him
Is enough
At the time
The worried
Worry
The anxious
Toil over things
Within themselves
Outside of themselves
Out of
Their full
Control
The bigots
Picket a cause
They know nothing
About, embracing
Their unity in Hate
But the spellings wrong
The forward thinkers
Caved in with
Paperwork and
Hopes and dreams
Billowing plumes of twisted
Curled, cigarette smoke
Ashen intellectuals caught up
In the overflowing ash trays
Of the overzealous socialite
This is our chance
To Be Someone
The realist
Staring blankly at an
Empty salt shaker sitting
Next to a full
Pepper shaker
The veteran
Wishing there
Was no such thing
As bullets
The president
On a pedestal
Showing how fragile
Man can be
We people enter
Through these doors
Escaped convicts of the eternal
Holding a key of
Impossibilities
There are so many roads
That are open to us
Who sways us to take the
One we tread upon now?
Who has enticed us to the
The path we now walk upon?
I see a glimmer of the horizon
The lights show a blinding
Ancient yellow, the color of my mother's
***** blonde hair;
The clouds
Her laughter
As she squints, hiding
Her joy, keeping it for herself
"Safe keeping"," she always said
For soon
She knew
I would be
An echo
Remembrance of Sound
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 5:39 PM UTC
She isn't beautiful,
She's the glint on dew
The sparkle on a star
The new shine on a just waxed car,
Too little too few
Are my words dutiful
To describe
This beauty exponential
Her smile's vibe,
New world order potential,
Brain to the Pinky
Her body's curves so slinky,
Twists and turns
Are jealous
How she burns
Into retinas
The sultriest of patinas,
More overzealous
Than the sun
Smoking hotter than a gun,
At least she will never expire
Like the Hostess *******
I'm burning from her fire,
Can feel it all the way to Helsinki...
© okpoet
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
She dreams of the ideal man,
but the suitor idolizes death in his soulful slumber.
She takes care of herself,
though she cannot bestow her beauty to impressionists.
She falls in love,
yet her delusional passions seethe her in disarray.
She finds new friends,
but a ********** of overzealous poison tarnishes the relationship.
She cooks for more than one;
ghosts accompany the reserved empty chairs.
She re-models her home,
driven to impress; however, she is the only one impressed.
She longs for attention,
craving for a taste of wanting to be loved.
She is she,
and she is her own canvas.
Oct 20, 2020
Oct 20, 2020 at 8:07 PM UTC