"peeved" poems
death wants more death, and its webs are full:
I remember my father's garage, how child-like
I would brush the corpses of flies
from the windows they thought were escape-
their sticky, ugly, vibrant bodies
shouting like dumb crazy dogs against the glass
only to spin and flit
in that second larger than hell or heaven
onto the edge of the ledge,
and then the spider from his dank hole
nervous and exposed
the puff of body swelling
hanging there
not really quite knowing,
and then knowing-
something sending it down its string,
the wet web,
toward the weak shield of buzzing,
the pulsing;
a last desperate moving hair-leg
there against the glass
there alive in the sun,
spun in white;
and almost like love:
the closing over,
the first hushed spider-sucking:
filling its sack
upon this thing that lived;
crouching there upon its back
drawing its certain blood
as the world goes by outside
and my temples scream
and I hurl the broom against them:
the spider dull with spider-anger
still thinking of its prey
and waving an amazed broken leg;
the fly very still,
a ***** speck stranded to straw;
I shake the killer loose
and he walks lame and peeved
towards some dark corner
but I intercept his dawdling
his crawling like some broken hero,
and the straws smash his legs
now waving
above his head
and looking
looking for the enemy
and somewhat valiant,
dying without apparent pain
simply crawling backward
piece by piece
leaving nothing there
until at last the red gut sack
splashes
its secrets,
and I run child-like
with God's anger a step behind,
back to simple sunlight,
wondering
as the world goes by
with curled smile
if anyone else
saw or sensed my crime
22.4k
Beastly is this monster state yet many damsels cannot avoid
Some may call it disturbingly conflicting and become annoyed
Where rationality coexists with irrationality in an unstable realm
Pretty monster states navigate this journey as captains at the helm
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
No need to disguise your fury or depressions
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
This is just part of your amazing expressions
Wonder is this monster state since the inception of Adam and Eve
Men can only hope to be compassionate, steadfast and never peeved
One moment, pretty monster states can be loving and best friends
Next moment, challenging one’s good nature and spirit to extreme ends
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
No need to disguise your fury or depressions
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
This is just part of your amazing expressions
Frightful is this monster state like a suspenseful thriller or mystery
Only those who are not faint of heart can sleuth this case history
Where a profound will of character serves to stabilize one’s constitution
Bringing the monster state to an uneventful but amenable restitution
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
No need to disguise your fury or depressions
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
This is just part of your amazing expressions.
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 10:44 AM UTC
**The allure of everything bad
The allure of vices that nullify circumstances which make living seem sad
The 'Hollywood' cigarette, the hard liquor... ******* crystal ****
All very romanticized but in reality, isn't that really just a self-induced slow death?
We don't talk about it, until we watch from the sidelines
If only for a second
When partaking one repeats quotes like 'it is what it is'
'I am not a quitter'
You've built up a tolerance for one, so you beckon
The bartender to pour you a second
Social trend like a hot topic on twitter
So now you want more
You ignorantly jab the needle inside you like you don't know what your signing up for
In a sense you don't, for you choose not to
Addiction entraps... but who?
Not you
And the moment you decide to go cold turkey
It appears more enticing in another movie, or in the hands of a fellow druggie
Impossible to reject
Relapse... rubber band effect
Yet even he that doesn't use gets a little curious
One day the stress becomes too much to handle, he's peeved
He's furious
He's heard of pills sold over the counter, and also of those available from dusty cobwebbed shelves
By dealers with hollowed out eyes, ghosts of their former selves
In an alternate reality
Where 'it's all good'
It's all about finding solace in one happy, high family... 'It's all hood'
A distorted image of zoned out smiling faces
Floating around in temporary elation
These vices have comforted and haunted many, way before our so called 'X-rated generation'
The druggie, the alcoholic or the *** addict you see... could be your's or someone else's dad
Or it could very well be you or me
Seduced by the allure of everything bad
I write this expecting it to be misunderstood by many...
For a judgement between bad and good
I myself could be affiliated to one of these vices... or many
Someone reading this may have already renamed it 'The allure of everything good'.**
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 4:01 AM UTC
This life **** man…
It’s exhausting..
I don't think anyone
has any idea
how tired I’ve been.
So let me explain...
I'm tired
..I’m tired..
******* I'm tired...
I'm ******* tired.
Tired of life.
Tired of crying.
Tired of whining.
Tired of trying.
Tired of trying to try
only to fail
to keep trying.
Tired of feeling like
the only reason I'm alive
is to try and avoid dying.
Tired of being the only one
that thinks I don't deserve
the talents that I have
that I constantly keep denying.
Tired of thinking that even if
I were to show my talents
then you people
would think I'm lying.
Tired of keeping everyone else
motivated accidentally,
when I can barely stay inspired
I'M TIRED..
…
Tired of thinking I dream too big
because everyone else
is thinking smaller.
Tired of being different
than anyone else that I'm around
and feeling I don't belong here.
Tired of all my goals
being too big for most to grasp
because my thoughts
are always broader.
Tired of my own dreams
always being out of reach
and making me feel alone and awkward.
Tired of being annoyed and peeved
and on the edge at any little thing
that makes me bothered.
Bothered at the fact
that I'm tired of being tired
and can't stop my thoughts
from wandering.
Tired of losing sleep
over trying to catch some rest
and can't seem to catch my breath
or take a break
even if it's offered.
*I'm ******* tired.*
Tired of not being on top
and feeling like quitting.
Tired of everyone always
Seein me dry my eyes.
Tired of feeling like
I'm a walking relapse.
*I'm ******* tired.*
Tired of working my *** off
non-stop,
and drowning in pity.
Tired feeling like all I do
is complain and whine.
Tired of thinking negative
when I know I don't need that.
******* tired.*
Tired of having four ******* items
in three different pawn shops
in two different cities
and one ******* thing on my mind
with zero positive feedback.
******* tired..*
Tired of people thinking
that I'm thinking
that I'm ******* special
even though I know
I'm not the only one
that's lost in doubt
or stressed the **** out
in life.
Tired of venting into
these notes in my phone
like it's my only revival.
But it seems to be the only way
that I can confess and unwind and
get this stress out my mind though..
So thank you for letting me lay down
these lyrics that I’m writing
So I can finally
put these thoughts to sleep
and actually rest them in peace
to expire
so I can stop being tired.
… Peace ✌🏽
Aug 5, 2022
Aug 5, 2022 at 4:49 AM UTC
Santa was a scrooge with presents last year
He only put a walnut in my Christmas bag of cheer
A letter of disappointment I sent to him
Asking him why on my presents did he skim
He never got back to me with a reply
I have discovered that Santa is a very stingy guy
Apparently he couldn't afford a postage stamp
To put on a letter addressed to my camp
A little peeved I am with Santa this year
He'll be spending few pennies on my Christmas cheer
I have given up on sending request to him
As he so likes making my Yule Tide Season so grim
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 9:33 PM UTC
Touch me not say the morning due to the sunrise disappearing as the sun grew
Touch me not say the coconut tree with its fruits hanging aloof,
Touch me not say the frog with bright red spots corking under the Buttress roots,
Touch me not says the indulging and then eluding dreams.
Touch me not says the maiden, playfully resisting her lover’s every move
Touch me not say the open shore to the teasing ocean waves,
Touch me not say the blood colored fruit to the naive traveler,
Touch me not say the blazing sun to Icarus, son you can’t fly to the sun,
Touch me not says the peeved kid pouting and showing it’s irk.
Touch me not says the volcano, feigning to be at rest
Touch me not says the deranged dog, to anyone who dare to come nearer
Touch me not says the humble cosmos, hiding all its beauty on a dark and cloudy night
Touch me not says the hissing cobra, I can **** an elephant.
Touch me not says the steaming ice
Touch me not says the thorny bushes,
Touch me not says the porcupine,
Touch me not says the diffident butterfly
Touch me not says the poet, can’t you see i am working i can’t be in distress
Touch me not, touch me not I am fine ……
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 3:41 PM UTC
I once kept some fish
I called one Pythagoras
He swam round and round the tank
And to be frank
I thought he was working out the cubic capacity.
To keep them fit
I fed them on flakes because that's all it takes
But he was a sod he took out a fishing rod
Caught all the others and ate all his brothers
I was a bit peeved but then I conceived
An idea..Oh lord what a killer.
In his tank I put a mirror
Well.
When he saw his reflection
Section by section he ate himself
And finished with his head.
Now Pythagoras is dead.
You didn't expect a happy ending did you?
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 12, 2011 at 10:11 AM UTC
ALERTS TO FINANCIAL AND MILITARY THREATS IN 2012 EUROPE
By John Cleese (British writer, actor and tall person):
The English are feeling the pinch in relation to recent events in Syria
and have therefore raised their security level from "Miffed" to
"Peeved." Soon, though, security levels may be raised yet again to
"Irritated" or even "A Bit Cross." The English have not
been "A Bit Cross" since the blitz in 1940 when tea supplies nearly ran
out. Terrorists have been re-categorized from "Tiresome" to "A ******
Nuisance." The last time the British issued a ****** Nuisance" warning
level was in 1588, when threatened by the Spanish Armada.
The Scots have raised their threat level from ****** Off" to "Let's get
the ******** They don't have any other levels. This is the reason they
have been used on the front line of the British army for the last 300 years.
The French government announced yesterday that it has raised its terror
alert level from "Run" to "Hide." The only two higher levels in France
are "Collaborate" and "Surrender." The rise was precipitated by a recent
fire that destroyed France 's white flag factory, effectively paralyzing
the country's military capability.
Italy has increased the alert level from "Shout Loudly and Excitedly"
to "Elaborate Military Posturing." Two more levels remain: "Ineffective
Combat Operations" and "Change Sides."
The Germans have increased their alert state from "Disdainful Arrogance"
to "Dress in Uniform and Sing Marching Songs." They also have two higher
levels: "Invade a Neighbor" and "Lose."
Belgians, on the other hand, are all on holiday as usual; the only threat
they are worried about is NATO pulling out of Brussels.
The Spanish are all excited to see their new submarines ready to deploy.
These beautifully designed subs have glass bottoms so the new Spanish
navy can get a really good look at the old Spanish navy.
Australia , meanwhile, has raised its security level from "No worries" to
"She'll be alright, Mate." Two more escalation levels remain: ****** I
think we'll need to cancel the barbie this weekend!" and "The barbie is
cancelled." So far no situation has ever
warranted use of the last final escalation level.
A final thought -" Greece is collapsing, the Iranians are getting
aggressive, and Rome is in disarray. Welcome back to 430 BC."
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 3:22 PM UTC
a poem for the perturbed
partially peeved
marginally miffed
indirectly disturbed
not for those in love
not for loss or for longing
not for the haughty highbrow
half hazardly happy saps
that drown you in their
dizzily delerious
words about joy and wonder
this poem is for the average joe
joe sixpac joe normal
kicked back, laid back
ignoble informal
working class
pain in the ***
foul mouthed, burnout
college drop out
that doesn't have two
sweet words to rub together
this poem is for me
and you... if you want it.
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 9:31 PM UTC
Oh dear
Oh dear
I've happened upon a queer
I don't quite know
how this should go
luckily I have my rulebook here
Morality for Fools
tells me homosexuality is a sin
Now I'm allowed
To yell it out loud
and tell him how naughty he's been
Oh dear
Oh dear
My neighbor's wife is licking my ear
Oh what should I do?
What happens next?
Lucky I keep the rulebook on top of my desk
Morality for fools
tells me that adultery is wrong
so I ask her to leave
and she seems a bit peeved
as she was itching to get out of that thong
I'll be the first to confess
It's sometimes a mess
to keep it all straight in my head
You see, I have no morality of my own
so I use the book's instead
It's perfectly fine
and I really don't mind
It's so much simpler this way
I'd rather be told what to do in my life
than make my own choices all day
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 6:49 PM UTC
Madrid
and after the street salesman
conned you
out of coins
in your change
Mamie said
well put it down
to experience
we all get caught
at one time or other
and they have
brought forth
great art
and you stared at her
at her hair and eyes
and said
yes I guess
but you were still peeved
about it but then
thought of the night before
when you and she
had slept all night
in the coach
through France
and into Spain
she with her head
on your shoulder
making little
snoring sounds
sometimes talking
in her sleep
other times
turning towards you
with her mouth
slightly ajar
and her hair
in a mess
and you had moved in
on her and kissed
her brow
like one planting
a soft kiss
on a corpse
and that made you laugh
and she said
what’s so funny?
and you said
taking hold
of her hand
crossing a street
just something
entered my head
what?
she said
about kissing a corpse
you replied
what corpse?
and that reminded you
of the time they brought
your father’s body home
for the night before
his funeral and as
he lay there
in the coffin
your gran had said
kiss him goodbye
and so you did
and that stayed with you
the feel
and chilled skin
and how it didn’t seem
to be him
just a shell
but you loved him still
for all that
and when you told her that
she said
how sweet
and you gazed at her
at her eyes
and hair
and kissable lips
as you walked
the Spanish street.
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 3:24 AM UTC
When someone
tells you
"you are breathing,"
you find yourself
peeved
because now you
are aware
and are
consciously
taking a breath.
I look at you
and without saying
a word, I am told
"you are breathing."
I find myself
saved
because now I
am aware
and am
breathing again.
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 10:05 AM UTC
It's difficult to breathe when you're peeved a private lung,
and hard enough to swallow without knowing the food is done.
I'd beg for you to speak if you could force the dryness down,
but it's hard without a tongue to make the voice of yours be found.
Just lick your lips and swipe that frown,
we'll hear the smile and see the sound.
Oct 26, 2010
Oct 26, 2010 at 12:00 PM UTC
An old curiosity shop
a lost world depository
dark dusty as pharaoh's tomb
worming squirming carefully through
where 'Breakages Must Be Paid For'.
Stopped clocks claiming time is up
sofas trailing their entrails
peeved pictures offered for their frames
and bureaux bursting with bumf.
Rummaging through dank passages
searching inner chamber book stocks
classic novels at six old pence
thumbed pages bought for improvement.
Nelson Collins Clear Type Press
Dent and Everyman in distress
Dumas Dickens and Conan Doyle
countless cultural references.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 6:28 AM UTC
Someone has defaced my library book.
Gone to the trouble of reading, pencil in hand,
ready should the opportunity arise again.
The graffiti is hilariously specific:
at every mention the author makes of England,
my fellow reader has added angry punctuation -
question marks, exclamation marks or,
at moments of presumed frustration,
simply scored the word through.
The book is by Kurt Vonnegut,
an American humanist
who would doubtless have sought to avoid such deep offense
but who would have had no earthly reason for imagining
that a Scot somewhere, years after his death,
would ignore the story,
the tragedy, the humour and the beauty in the prose
so fired up was he by his conviction
that Kurt should have written 'Britain' instead of 'England'.
You see,
proud Scots are often peeved
when the rest of the world pays as little attention to them
as they pay to the rest of the world.
So it goes.
Apr 18, 2011
Apr 18, 2011 at 1:57 AM UTC
*They say I write for love for I am in love, and they love the works I wrote.
But I can't help but be a little peeved, though still I smile with the gratefulness it connotes.
I wonder when will they hear the reprimands my heart whispers. That I do not write for love because I am in love, but I write of love because of you.*
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 1:01 PM UTC
**you're pouting
i'm sulking
you're peeved
i'm mellow
and i know
it's the corazon
not the amazon
that's got me
whispering
and
whistling
as el nino
rains dearth
and we weep to see
good things go bad**
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 6:26 PM UTC
A shock of that medieval gait
Iron clad and shut tight behind
our failed visit to this church or that.
Wandering slyly
Sphinx-like in our mysterious gaze
across the Douro
Avoiding eyes but
touching hands
'Because...
Well...Vacation'
he says
slipping his hands down my spine
I say, 'that's fine'
Because...
Well...Temporarity.
But it's not-
Tid in the stomachways.
It churns at the sight of you,
Not in the good way too,
It swivels and slights
always threatening, threatening, threatening
to give up on lunch.
But I guess,
that's all to rest,
because four more days
And you're a stranger again.
Not this succubus sprite
trying to bask in my light,
Not some peeved preacher's son
desperately adopting what I've done,
And not some Disneyland duo,
or too sweetly caricaturised lovers,
But a boy;
and a girl,
Too hurt by this world to admit that
sometimes, it's not where you go
but who you're with
that can ruin the trip.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC
the last time I went to church
I sang the hymns off key
and the rest of the congregation
leered at me
they were unaware
of my throat being sore
and that was why I sang
with a hoarse roar
after the service
the vicar approached me
to say he wasn't too happy
with my singing off key
his insulting comment
was not well received
so I promptly stormed off
feeling most peeved
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 4:41 AM UTC
You never realize you’re potent,
Always absorbed to ponder differently!
*****
Your argumentative nature
Make many one peeved!
*****
But no one realize
Where lies the
Idea of own thoughtfulness
Alternative thinking!
*****
You mobilize the collective
To think alternatively
And work differently
To put colours in others life
To make them blissful!
*****
No one able to forget
About your thought and effort
To form a collective
To putting colour of happiness for other!
*****
Now everyone is committed
to continue your endeavor !
To bring colours of delightedness
to other!
Mar 28, 2020
Mar 28, 2020 at 10:10 AM UTC
I watched as the canary
walked along Janice's
small finger, her grandmother
was in the kitchen
getting tea and cake.
Does it speak
any new words?
I said.
It doesn't say the words
you tried to teach it,
Janice said, which nearly
got me into trouble.
So what does it say?
I asked.
Pretty girl, it says,
Janice said.
The bird walked back
along her finger.
I gazed at Janice's hair,
long and neatly brushed
over her shoulders;
the red beret sat
on the side of her head.
Her gran came in
with teapot and cups
and saucers on a tray.
Don't let that bird fly
out the window, Gran said,
put it back in its cage.
Janice put the bird back
in the cage and shut the door.
The bird looked peeved
being back inside
and nibbled wildly at the bars.
Her gran went out
to fetch the cake.
If I'd been alone
I'd have help the bird
make a break.
Sep 4, 2017
Sep 4, 2017 at 12:25 PM UTC
She had trespassed and slept in the bed of a bear
And had eaten their porridge and broken a chair.
When the bears saw the damage, they Goldilocks sued.
The defendant is guilty the judge did conclude,
So he ruled they may cut off and sell all her hair.
That Pinocchio lied, everybody could see.
A bad puppet and son to Geppetto was he.
With his nose greatly grown and no longer a youth,
He had mastered deception and twisting the truth,
So he set off to salesman or congressman be.
The Pied Piper was hired to get rid of the rats.
When he finished, the leaders of Hamlin said, "Drats!
Many children are missing, but rodents remain."
When they re-read the contract, the mix-up was plain
For it stated, quite clearly, get rid of the brats.
Since the Beast loved the Beauty, he asked for a date.
She replied you're too ugly, unfit for a mate.
After therapy sessions for years he'd endured,
The good Beast is now married and happy and cured
While the sad former Beauty's with spouse number eight.
When he rubbed the old lamp, a kind genie then said
He would grant him three wishes, but look where it led.
The result was a tragedy none had foretold.
For Aladdin then wished for a mountain of gold
That delivered by drones was then dropped on his head.
For a handful of beans, Jack had bartered their cow.
"That's a terrible trade!" moaned his mom with a scowl.
But she changed her opinion and ceased being peeved,
When her Jack sold the stalk and a fortune received.
It's the world's tallest tower for cellulars now.
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 11:16 AM UTC
How strong i move the ground in mountain
The mountain will not shift
How fast i drain the water in the ocean
The ocean is still there
Dont know how much i have tried to
It still in the same place
I have tried to walk through the lowland
But im still find the mountain
I have tried to walk through the desert
But im still find the ocean
How do i get out of here?
How to move?
As much as the grain of the sand in the coast
It as much as i have tried
But im still in the same place
In the place that i never known
Sad
Worry
Peeved
Hurt
All in this place
I cant find the light
Like an endless dark cave
No way out
Struggling every day
Fell into the dephts of the ocean
Swim out and find the mountain again
Feel like in the prison
The prison of my mind
Never came out
Cause im still in the same place
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
Perpetually ****** peeved and put-out
Cocked my cans back to give them a clout
Surrounded by slithering serpents suffocating my shout
Asking angry ******** what their apathy is about
Longing for her luscious locks to be locked with a look
Burgeoning, bumbling, believing love's broken book
Tired of the teasing, I take what I've come to took
Nestling near, cradling only my pillow in my arm crook
********* ******* **** right you're going down
Fixing your ******* face into a freckled frown
Grouchy and greedy, I gasped seeing her gown
Hungry and ***** I can't leave the scent, like a hound
Where was 'we' written in the wedding
Roaring raucously, I rip off her ring
Zealous, jeaous, I zag away from my zig
Can't you cantankerous ***** see I want to be KING
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 1:14 PM UTC