"puny" poems
My thoughts are crabbed and sallow,
My tears like vinegar,
Or the bitter blinking yellow
Of an acetic star.
Tonight the caustic wind, love,
Gossips late and soon,
And I wear the wry-faced pucker of
The sour lemon moon.
While like an early summer plum,
Puny, green, and ****
Droops upon its wizened stem
My lean, unripened heart.
41.2k
Knights clad in paper armor
Draw their pen-shaped swords
In preparation for battle
Against the dragon named Algebra
All year they've trained for this day
Poring over musty tomes
Filled with archaic battle plans
Entire armies have been lost
In the dangerous search
For the elusive variable called X
The informants A and B
Have consistently given
Inconsistent information
And the number line
Has completely deserted them
The numbers taunt the knights
Mocking their puny calculators
Confident in their unanswerable status
Yet one by one
The polynomials fall
The dragon bows it's head
The Knights have won the day.
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 7:24 PM UTC
A rugged sidewalk cried hard by the way-side;
Its fissures could not hold their tears anymore.
A puny man pushed a red cart in the tide
Down a darkling, narrow street in Salammbô.*
He mumbled to the waves on his way to the market
As he gasped behind his laden chariot.
His merkabah bore many a lost things
Which he had found buried in the quicksand.
Among them a fountain pen and a helmet,
A pair of eyeglasses, and a trumpet.
I wondered, gazing at the old man’s washed face:
"Will this worn-out scene ever reach the marketplace?"
© LazharBouazzi
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 5:48 PM UTC
fat kid, oh fat jkid, oh where are you fat kid
i am really fat kid, full of muscles ya see
i love cream buns, ****** oath i am a big big big big man
what do ya think about that, puny little cool kid
i love my beautiful spring rolls as well as a coca cola to wash it down with
that is mighty fine, oh yeah
and the kids went up to me, and said fat kid fat kid fat kid, you are a fat kid
i said, i am not a kid, for i am an adult, who lives life like it’s one big adventure after the next
as i said, i am known as the fat kid, the really big fat kid
i love spring rolls, cream buns, and a coca cola
and i love lamingtons, as well, and i love meat pies and sausage rolls
which makes me a real australian ***** ****
and a custard **** i can lick the fat right off that
and the voice came from out of the blue
fat kid fat kid, you are a fat kid, and another voice says
your not an adult, adults are cool, and i said, i am cool on the computer, ****
and then i said, i am so an adult, a creative adult, a good fooler\
i try to be a cool kid, to gain protection, but reality i am a cool adult
and i don’t appreciate being treated like a fat kid
i am a cool adult who loves to PARTY
an adult PARTY dude so to speak
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 10:06 PM UTC
Love, though for this you riddle me with darts,
And drag me at your chariot till I die,—
Oh, heavy prince! O, panderer of hearts!—
Yet hear me tell how in their throats they lie
Who shout you mighty: thick about my hair,
Day in, day out, your ominous arrows purr,
Who still am free, unto no querulous care
A fool, and in no temple worshiper!
I, that have bared me to your quiver’s fire,
Lifted my face into its puny rain,
Do wreathe you Impotent to Evoke Desire
As you are Powerless to Elicit Pain!
(Now will the god, for blasphemy so brave,
Punish me, surely, with the shaft I crave!)
5.3k
Billy loved his parsnip
He'd tend it day and night
To keep it safe from prying eyes
He stashed it out of sight
But one eventful morning
He awoke to such alarm
His parsnip had gone from puny
To the size of a baby's arm
Such growth was nigh unheard of
In a vegetable or fruit
So he bore it proud before him
Grasped expertly by the root
When he showed his doting mother
She was mightily impressed
So screamed a lot then swooned a bit
While clutching at her chest
The people at the bus stop
Shared his mother's admiration
But advised him that his tuber
Needed urgent relocation
So he took it in a taxi
Wrapped up in folded gauze
To the Guinness book of records
And he pushed apart the doors
His parsnip held protruding
With a confident advance
Like a knight atop his charger
With a huge organic lance
But security had seen him
They quickly knocked him flat
A policeman saw his parsnip
And he hid it with his hat
Billy served his sentence
For unsavory displaying
He changed his name to Danny
There's no record where he's staying
The moral of this sorry tale
Is far too dull to write
So learn your ****** vegetables
And know their names on sight
**
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 7:58 PM UTC
Paltry people project putrid opinions, propelled from puny pinpoint brains, in their pint-sized prickly pineapple pulp heads.
If they stopped and stayed silent, stood still and listened, stuff some significant people said would seep in, and seem simply superb when seen with acceptance and socially sensitive skills
Feb 3, 2010
Feb 3, 2010 at 8:14 AM UTC
O Golden Hair, My Friend
Kitty kitty
So fluffy
So witty
So unbearably pretty.
Stay away from
The city,
My kitty kitty
It'd be such a pity.
Hussanara
This is my mango.
There are many like it,
But this one is
Mine.
Without me,
My mango is useless.
Without my Mango,
I am useless...
My Sweet Wonderful Mary
Dark dim witty kitty
Trailed into New York City
With bad intents inevitably
Bad.
Through Earth and lake committing
All its great natural giving
Forced utter pain incoming,
Dad.
Lord (Religious readers please take no offense again the writer was not quite there)
God is a champ.
The bearded light upstairs.
He's cold and he's damp
Like fresh lumpy pears.
Won't one, if you dare,
Stick your hand in the air
To clamp
Like bears?
He's a scare of
Puny people
With long ginger hair.
Whose souls the cannot
Go in there,
The holiest of despair.
They all run through his stare
Of bulging eyes he got!
Anyone want to translate that one? I sure couldn't.
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 1:43 AM 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
you say it is disgusting for me to be naked.
you. you who opens up redtube as soon as you walk into your room.
you say that i should wear a bra to cover up. that no one would want to see the outline of my *******
when you get hard thinking about taking off my shirt.
you tell me to put on a sweater so my bra straps don't show.
because you want to be the only one to see them. selfish you are. you.
you tell me i am a **** for sleeping with anyone i want.
then tell your friends all the ***** things i'll do once you **** me since i'm so "experienced".
you will never get to **** me.
you. you ************* pissfuck, wretched, privileged, puny COCKroach.
you tell me to calm down after you shove my head onto your lap and say ****
you ask why i am so uptight. why i don't get that it was just a joke.
feminazi
you who creates the danger in my life then laughs when i take note of it.
you who creates threats to my safety and sanity then questions why i do not simply comply.
you who creates hostility. dismissal.
you who creates a life-threatening culture around the sacks of fat i have on my chest and the hole i have between my legs.
you mock me for gripping my keys walking next to you.
i was born naked. i will walk the streets naked. exept for the stilettos i will wear to punch a hole through your patriarchal ********
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 3:02 PM UTC
**The glass bowl stands-a fragile shell
For puny, puffing orange swimmers
Flimsy as the frosting on a wedding cake
You, an endearing fool care too much
For goldfish- that on a bleak Sunday evening
When the weather’s offbeat and the curtains
Appear especially dull- and you slouch back on
Your favorite divan regretting the choice of
Wall-color and some slightly more cardinal matters
Will die on you-
All you asked was for the dumb goldfish to keep
Scurrying about- but no, today’s not your day.
Your heart is a shore pebble and your lips are
As twisted as a winding hill road
As you regret ever having brought in the goldfish that die.**
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
Treacherous tongue.
Warning unrung.
Nothing will tire
This unquenched desire.
Consumed and yet not.
A battle little fought.
The huge, the puny-
Platter’s destiny.
Tresspassed precinct.
Animal Instinct.
Fire in the belly.
Encore. Gluttony.
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 6:39 AM UTC
Night falls over Soho and, gazing into some cheap tart's eyes
Over a candelit-chequered-food-stained tablecloth,
Beneath my belt an immense ******** lurks leakily,
The seams of my ****** soaked with bursting lust,
My groin twitching in desire for her wanton arse-flesh.
Streetlight shining through threadbare curtains
Glinting sexily over my hairy pounding buttocks;
My screamed roars of pleasure echoing
In the deepest depths of her tenth-rate mind;
Her poor brain collapsing in mighty mid-climax.
Morning reveals a classy scene to chambermaid's gawp:
Spread-legged cold-as-chilled-salami ****
Puny brainbox imploded like mashed bananas
By staggering rivulets of overpowering *******
Like a duck's entrails in an unwashed sink.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 1:29 PM UTC
Rue thy feeble fate.
Fear the day when thine own eyes
Fail to see beyond thy hand.
Requiem for the rest-easies such as Thyself shall not come as welcome
Praise, but as fire and brimstone,
Blood from the grimy grindstones of
The weary working, ready to rise
And crush all unworthy opposition
With their hilts of red-hot rage,
Raising swords of liberty to the heavens and cutting down the opression that has stilted their air.
Weep for this is thy fate:
Thy death means justice for those who Have been defeated countless times,
Under a blooming, burning sky defeats Pile up like stars, simmering, waiting to Become supernovas and take every puny Universe down in their own glorious Descent, like
Icarus to the sun, a sweeter fall could not Exist on this lonely planet,
Into the unforgiving waters of victory.
Justice for those angry folk who by merit Have earned their own place, not by Some system that hands it to them, but By grit and toil alone,
By the fierce madness that is
Existing and not completely
Giving in to the ruin of being human, Following the words that
A wiser man than I spoke, that life is Struggle, that the only constant in this Life is the pain that all of us try to ignore In the futile attempt to block out the Tragedies that haunt us daily.
Face thy fears, coward.
Thou miserable wretch can't look thyself In the mirror, but can claim that we as a Species have hope for peace on Earth and Goodwill for all.
What dost thou know of goodwill? When didst thou give a single moment of thought to the happiness of anyone but thyself and thine selfish avaricious interests?
Thou shan't claim to know what is holy and just, yet scourge the very pious people that thou imitates; thou shan't slaughter the devout on a temple whose bricks are molded from hypocrisy and deceit.
Rue thy feeble fate,
Because thou deserveth every blow, every cry of mockery, every disgusted eye and every hideous pitiful moan that thy gravestone will inspire, and even Dante himself could not have imagined the flaming of the hellish unredeeming pyre that will be thy afterlife;
rue thy fate for no morals, no intercessions, no pleas or entreaties to be spared from the filth and maggotry that thou hast built thy very house upon canst save thee now.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 4:17 PM UTC
When I was young,
About three years of age,
I was made to stay at creche,
When my parents were away at work.
I used to see those yellow wasps glide,
Curious I used to look at them,
Elder people used to warn,
Warn me of their sting.
But I was still curious,
Curiosity subsided my fear,
Hard to grasp the idea of pains,
I just wanted to grab the yellow wasps.
And as I remember a curious younger myself,
I was by the carpet bed of marigold at creche,
There wandered a golden wasp on a marigold,
I wanted to hold that puny wasp in my hands,
Unaware of its sting I caught it out of curiosity,
The next thing I faintly remember is its sting..!
The painful sting lingered for the followup time,
The inflammation on my thumb followed it,
And I caught fever as well as the fear,
Instilled was the fear like a dread,
I used to remain fearful till ages.
The fear was vanquished not long later than it,
It stayed there in the crevices of my mind,
It was until I was bitten by several bees,
Once it was me and Rishabh my chum,
We had just stepped out of the school,
Someone had disrupted a honeycomb,
Angry bees were stinging us there then,
The painful panic inside was totally silent,
We managed to get to the bike and escaped.
I took anti-allergic tablets for two days,
Even Rishabh took the same medicines,
But I recovered soon with an experience,
Seemed to have worked better with my body,
Thanks to my compatibility with the medicines,
Rishabh caught fever with his face swollen for 2 weeks.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 3:05 AM UTC
Every moment, minute or day,
we spend our waking life breathing in life
enjoying memories and cherished people around
making love and making laughs
the sweet sweet breeze, and the peach colored skies
All of it so sweet it makes our teeth hurt thinking of it
like so many photographs and records we shared
All of it in a single breath and a blink of an eye
Isn't it fun and happy?
Isn't it so perfect and so simple?
Isn't it what we wanted to all have?
Isn't it what we long for and did have?
Until we turn dark, and all the colors turn grey
until we see what we were and see what we are now
Until we crumble in each and every word we hear
until we succumb to the arms of Depression itself
Until we grab that **** bag and stuck our puny heads in
Until we reach for that medicine cabinet for the pills we need
Until we take some drugs and ease our pains
Until we reach the moment darkest in our darkest days
Breathe child, my momma would say
breathe it all out and breathe it all in again
I keep breathing and breathing and breathing
until it becomes a routine that my muscles have mastered
Breathe out the bad thoughts
Breathe it back in
Breathe out the bad thoughts
Breathe it back in
Day by day, it cycles, an endless horror show
Night by night my hands tingle like shaking jello
I can't seem to remember what my momma told me
Help! somebody please, help me breathe
The relentless hands of anxiety and depression
The unforgiving laughs of insomnia and ADD
the same sh*t that I go through, night after night
Caging me in like a tiger in a circus show
Until we see the calm and grasp it like a baby holding a rattle
Ever so tight, yet ever so clumsy
The light shines and we see clearly
What we have become and start breathing in rhythm
My lungs fill with air every time I breathe
Yes, but as I fill my chest with life...
When I exhale, am I breathing out my life?
So tell me, Am I both living and dying with every breath?
Am I already dead but my body denies it?
Am I a walking corpse living in an empty shell?
Am I a machine destined to be one so lonely, so shattered
That I cannot anymore---I cannot anymore, breathe.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 1:38 AM UTC
And I did it once again.
Skin picked and shaven,
Cakey frosted ivory,
Faceless, nameless,
Plasticity contusion.
Littered in the detailed fractures of a swelling stem,
Those skeletal twigs of intangible incestual wings,
splintered in stacks underneath his bed.
Apocalyptic comfort found in the veins of what remains...
Pineal shame,
Puny white me,
Post-karmic, futuristic-retrospective cosmic plan, slowly creeps towards me and offers its long inflaming hand.
Cricket twitch, echoes in the distant introspective glitch of my momentary intuition.
A bitter drip on tongue descends,
Tunneled in an unwanted exploration.
That sour pitched cacophony uncomfortably sung,
Through the ghastly cold touch of a righteous cockroached thumb.
Repugnance,
Spreading the stain of an untouched soul,
Quicksand, morphing me into dust.
Devouring the white and into the red I rust.
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 1:40 PM UTC
a wasp flew a straight line
from its nest to me
cloaked in puny sunshine
it thought itself to be free
unheard was its buzzing
unseen its rainbow wings
untold was what it carried
i only felt it sting
the suspension like a drawn sword
cut through the silence within
the absence of feeling retrieved
was healed by the relief of loss
an epitaph if to be given
would affirm the infinity of the end
a promise given in portions
partitioned to satisfaction
make one see through the gloss
to the plainness within
that grieves in honour and truth
shedding tears of blood
it tastes the purest fruit
in the acceptance of its pain
lies the moral of our story
- Sneha Iyer & Vijayalakshmi Harish
04.01.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish & Sneha Iyer
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 6:00 AM UTC
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Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 5:43 AM UTC
Poetry is the altruistic apogee of the individualistic emotional egoist.
The lack of feeling, and the lack of empathy,
the petty attempt to hide them with creativity.
It’s truly astonishing how we can fool ourselves into thinking we’re kind
When we’re just wasting our time, pretending to see when we’re blind.
How could we ever emulate our chemical imbalances on one another?
The only way to do it is the kindly overrated feeling of love and affection.
And why would we need words, if we’re sure about our love for each other?
Oh, we’re puzzled to believe that our puny poetry represents felt perfection.
Yet we just walk through the valleys of lyricism,
Lost in our own wishes for joy or demise
And yet we become shadows of perfectionism
Filled with the detachment we criticize.
Our representation is our perdition
We've lost ourselves in our own mission.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC
He will not fix it,
He is such a bleak assignment
He is bigoted as ****
But I'm surprised
You're voting him to power,
And in English, that would be
Ignorance!
He will push you back 50 years
On opinions about modern living,
He will **** your families and
Ask you to never leave Churches.
Somebody come and look at this,
All puny mods are voting for
A Phoney Republic!
You might very well need
More oil
Stage 9/11 and get more
Private armies to Middle East?
Create more ISISs, Make
All Muslims look Evil,
Give them a free ride to
West and EU
And finally make them
Fat, Dumb and Addicted to Reality TV!
Well, just run off to Mexico,
There'll at least be a wall between you and Trump!
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 9:45 AM UTC
Peaceful place,
With not much space,
With lots of green plants,
Along with hidden ants,
My garden.
Every day,
From twelve to three,
He comes to visit me.
"Hoo hoo hoo",
He talks to me,
But i never could'm see.
He became my best friend,
With whom i never had to pretend,
He would listen, i would talk,
I'd never had to balk.
The day was gloomy,
It ought to rain,
I've felt so puny,
I've felt great pain.
I did something bad,
At least that's what he said,
And I was punished,
While i thought :
"God, why am i not dead ?"
The days passed slowly by,
And i was just looking at the sky,
I coulden't move,
The bruises could that prove.
"Hoo hoo hoo",
I heard again,
And thought :
"So you didnt left me then"
"Hoo hoo hoo",
"I'm here for you",
I raised my look,
There he was, next to me,
I could finally see.
I wish i could pet him on the head,
But I couldn't rise my hand,
"Hoo hoo hoo",
"I'm here for you"
He said and look to the skies,
While my tears have dries,
And I slowely closed my eyes.
We escaped from the pain,
I was happy again.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 6:24 AM UTC
loving you,
is like walking
on a landmine;
suited with a
vest decorated in
dangerous explosives
one wrong step-
and it goes 'kaboom',
just like ticks
of warning from
my puny heart
you hold a machine
and prepared to shoot;
as if I've not experienced
the after effects of this war,
just so I could win,
the peace treaty
of your affection
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 11:38 AM UTC
after an arduous trek
to the high peak,
standing hand in hand,
when they looked downwards,
*no wonder looked
stunning enough,
to get excited about,
or things ordinary,
too puny to ignore,*
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 2:01 PM UTC
I wish there were words to make you see
words to express these images
but im not a painter, neither much of a talker
i take solace in the silence
as there are sounds to shut out
no sounds keeping me from the symphonies in my head
The impulses recreating euphoria
that feeling of joy, which i wish i could share
i wish i had the words to express
but all i have is this silence
it gives me pleasure, it gives me joy
i wish i could share it
Babies, i envy the most
the only image that matters to them is that of their mother’s tired yet content face
in that little brain of theirs is imagination in its purest form
untainted by the world
dragons they haven’t seen yet, neither fair princesses
but even then they dream when they sleep
and those tiny brains of theirs explode into a billion different colours
and equal number of shapes, which none of us remember
That’s the reason for their smile
the laughter without a cause
because they haven’t been told yet how beauty is defined by the world
in their eyes everything is beautiful
they have seen true beauty
they show it to you by holding your finger in their puny hands
and you feel a sudden rush of warmth you feel when you look into a lover’s eyes
I wish there were words to tell you how I feel
words, to show you the world through my eyes
to describe the shapes I see when I stare at a wall for too long,
that feeling of wanting to fall back into a dream
the words to tell you why I love that one particular song
the one that plays over and over in my head
but somehow I can’t remember if I have ever heard it or not
One day I wish I find a dictionary that translates thoughts into words.
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 1:49 AM UTC