"tardiness" poems
awakened by the
offsprings cry,
baby powdered
morning dew
showers the room,
coffee stained smiles
shine about
cheerio blanketed
kitchens,
so worrisome
for office tardiness,
the carseat won't lock
into place,
tire marks on
fresh paved driveways,
to daycare tears dry not
she's on time,
fatigued she plants
her seed to the office seat
to grow even less
awaiting to see the smile
of her child and say
her prayers before
falling asleep
-
awaked by the
offsprings cry,
gun powered
morning dew
showeres the village,
rotted teeth smile
amongst the
body-blanketed township,
so worrisome of finding
a slain mother
sister
brother
just like father,
the gun won't lock
into place,
they never will,
tattered couches
paved with the
***** of
slaughtered buildings,
mother's dead
tears dry not,
fatigued,
hands of
grungy drainpipes
plant beside,
holding stagnant
a somber sibling,
tremors ripple
crimson tides,
planted to
grow even less
awaiting to see
the smile of
his mother
his father
his sister
and say his prayers
with brother
before laying down
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 8:29 PM UTC
He arrived,
late,
punctuality never his strong point,
the vernix covered head,
an indication of tardiness,
three days late,
kept us all waiting,
never late now,
those pangs of hunger,
they hit the house in decibels,
shaking the house to it's foundations.
feed him,
he settles,
sleep,
few hours more rested peace,
he is really very good,
only cries,
when he wants food!
(C) Livvi
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 7:24 AM UTC
Absence.
Lack thereof.
Without.
Lost.
Forgotten.
Absence.
An empty bed.
Lonely hearts club.
A party of one.
Quiet house.
Not even a stir.
Miles cracking as he spins and spins
Rain drop drops down the windows,
down walls
down me.
Absence.
Not good enough to be remembered.
Boring, lackluster, too easily surpassed.
A hole in the heart,
Weakness is showing emotion.
Blank face.
Death in Life.
EXILE.
Absence.
Tardiness.
A minute too late.
Detention.
No, absence.
Not here at all
was never really here
was never ever here.
Absence.
Seeing what is wanted
Not what is had.
What is had
is absence.
A lack thereof.
Nothing really at all.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 1:32 PM UTC
The
***tilt of my seesaw
is decidedly downward facing dog:
and there’s no rush to judgment,
for the powers that be,
be delighted by slow-walking,
making the waiting
max-tortuous,
but am of an age when everything,
even the long buried sins and unkept promises, poke and **** nonstop,
and the formulae once relied upon
to ease incipient self-deception,
to temporize and salve the consternations
of unkempt aggravated remorse failures,
as aged misdemeanors be matured felonies,
I blurt and declare guilt to all, alas,
and yet,
always an
and yet
in the ultimate crushing of
tardiness, knotted by an indignity of silence,
no one is desirous
of taking my***
confession
5:10pm
Thu Jan 28
2023
Jan 30, 2023
Jan 30, 2023 at 3:41 PM UTC
I will miss Uganda
The people that made us feel most welcome
That helped us learn as part of the team
I will miss the sunshine
Even the downpours and storms that stunned us
And the dryness of earth that dusted our skin
I will miss the hilltop views
That look upon the cityscape of hectic humanity
And roads filled with the danger of boda-bodas and matatus
I will miss the expectation of casual tardiness
Of moving like there’s no rush
No better place to be so why hurry
I will miss the adventure of discovering new places
Of eating new things with new people
And sharing stories of varied past
I will miss Uganda and it says it misses me
But as long as I remember
I wont need to miss the memories
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 10:07 AM UTC
my dog lies on the concrete patio
pink belly up
the fresh alabama sun cooking the air
draped solid over us like a wet blanket.
he is not part of my reality
he cares not for tardiness
or three-day-leg-stubble
or cleaning the lint trap.
i ache to be a part of his
pink belly up
only stirring to watch the children
play across the street.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC
I sit on the counter, feet draped over the sink watching the sun rise over the trees through the open window
As I bring my coffee to my lips I feel the familiar chip
The one that my lips have felt every morning for years
This cup snuggles perfectly between my small hands, the warmth shielding them from the cool spring air
This cup has been through a lot
A few moves
More than a few lovers
The Alice in Wonderland decal has worn off and the seafoam enamel is cracked-- a mosaic of all the times I didn't care enough to hand wash it
The handle fell off once, I wanted to practice the Kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken things with liquid gold
But I'm a college student, so glittery modge podge worked just fine
In many ways I am this cup
Used, well loved
Slightly broken, held together with glitter and good intentions
I don't mind the cracks
In the cup or in me
Cracks show that you are strong, can handle whatever is thrown at you, heartbreak or linoleum
They also allow light in
To brighten when darkness is all you can seem to find
As I reach the last sips of my coffee the sun is well up
My cats are hungry and I'm running late
Some days it's worth tardiness to reconnect to a part of you you thought was lost
Today is one of those days
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 7:42 AM UTC
I think I'm getting a
Sinus infection.
It feels all too familiar,
And ******
Maybe it's because I've been ******
To others.
Or maybe because I threw my
Cigarette on the ground.
Maybe because I looked at,
A stranger,
And judged him.
Or because I lied to my boss,
Regarding my tardiness.
No.
None of these.
I'm ashamed,
For thinking that someone,
Something,
Cares enough to punish me,
For my lack of consistent morality.
I accept instead,
That life is indifferent,
And sometimes,
People,
Good and bad,
Fall ill.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 3:00 PM UTC
I was riding in an old blue suburban
packed full of my siblings. All bony knees and elbows
and loud familiar voices.
I gazed through the glass
and forgot myself. I looked like any other
dumb kid day dreaming
about nonsensical things to all the cars that passed.
But my eyes darted to and fro.
I distinctly remember
the irrational panic that sank like
a stone in my stomach
as we flew down the highway.
Always grappling with our irrevocable
tardiness.
My eyes were searching out the
landscape that swept by,
Trying to spot single blades of grass.
Finding inconspicuous shrubs,
concealed branches, and
subtle cracks and crevices.
It had occurred to me that things
do
go unnoticed.
And my five year old brain became bothered.
Grazing the edges of obsessive.
At the time I felt
anguish
for those forgotten.
I wanted to be the careful one.
Observant and
appreciative of those subtle splendors.
Was it simple selfishness?
The enticement of being the only one
to see what I was seeing.
Some early subconscious struggle
with originality. Prematurely grasping for
anything to set me apart.
Maybe a concoction of both.
I just know that I am
here gasping in the cold. Watching clouds of
frost pour from my mouth
And my eyes remain
darting.
From one snowflake
to the next.
Desperate to catch them before
they dissolve into the
nothingness.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 6:12 PM UTC
Instead of homework,
I, a curious and
strange child
ran into a library
of multiverses.
To the left was Macbeth,
and to the right was Dorian Gray.
Amidst my tardiness and slight
disarray, I found Beethoven.
He, so volatile,
so angry and loving,
so deceitful and charming
exhausting then relaxing.
He composed
infectious melodies
of strings and brass that
rumbled like thunderstorms
but these thunderstorms
rained heavily on me,
washing away negativity,
blooming flowers
of unique beauty.
Statements in musical
form, everlasting, ever flowing
lead me away from a
place of sitting in silence
and not knowing
what notes are like
when they dance .
With his outstretched arms
I found an embrace in
an immortal man
with a loyal stance.
Time means nothing,
when floating on cloud nine.
Beethoven transcends time
and with him, everything
is just fine.
I once found Beethoven
in a library and since then
he has never left me.
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 12:19 PM UTC
Negotiate my tardiness
On reserve to be touched
you & me on a
patterned couch
Sep 7, 2025
Sep 7, 2025 at 1:24 AM UTC
I don't like people that use the word "epic".
I don't like people that are overly optimistic.
I don't like people that "read twilight before it got popular".
I don't like the cold.
I don't like insults disguised as compliments.
I don't like tardiness.
I don't like
I don't
I do
I do like
I do like people that wear ironic t-shirts.
I do like people with green eyes.
I do like people that are awkward.
I do like raw cookie dough.
I do like writing ****** stories.
I do like you.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 8:05 PM UTC
Each second of your tardiness just emphasizes how much you don't give a ****
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 12:21 AM UTC
Thursday afternoon.
My God the sky turned black.
Blowing of the wind damages the trees.
Revenge for them remaining clothed.
In tardiness into December they walk slow.
Ah, their foliage should have left an age ago.
Leaves should have left the trees.
They were deceived by temperate weather.
It is still yet.
Won't be for more than minutes.
Sallow leaves attached by whispers.
Still waiting for the wind to blow.
Anarchic leaves await permission to let go.
The wind will blow.
Around ivory towers.
Ivory cast out.
Elephants long gone.
In a teacup brews a storm of sighs.
Rattles the windows and makes wet the skies.
Waiting in silence for rain to pour.
To wash off the leaves.
Make puddles bless the floor.
(c) Livvi 05/12/2013.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 10:11 AM UTC
I am dead
Dead to the world
Comfort and unconsciousness, chains to the nether
But soon the savior comes
Resurrection is at hand
Classes, like Mary, beckon the savior's call
Morning is his cue
But I am dead
Dead to the world
The sun makes his debut
But I slap my savior on the snooze
Chains to the nether hold me tight
Mary pleads with the savior,
"The sun has passed his cue!"
Shrieking, my savior calls to me,
Shriek! Lazarus! Come Forth!
Shriek! I am pulled back from the nether
Shriek! The breath of life enters me
Chains of unconsciousness are cut
Comfort won't let go
I must find the will to live
Throw back the cover of my coffin
My grave clothes I'm still
I struggle toward the sepulcher door
Let the stone be rolled away!
Breathe deep the breath of life
Shower off the dead smell
I leave smelling if fine grave spices
Glance at my watch
Pick up my pace
But it's too late
I'm still dead.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 5:44 PM UTC
This is the first and last time
that the moon and the planets will align
in such a shape.
At least, the last instance until the sun burns up.
You said "Look out your window."
I did. I looked out;
I blamed the window when I couldn't see it.
then I went outside
it was negative nine degrees
and my face was set to freeze
yet the moon remained hidden.
I drove to the end of the winding road
in the orange darkness
Even in the opening of the trees
there was no lunar disclosure,
no planetary apparitions
to soothe the frostbite I inflicted
when I stuck my head out of the sunroof window.
I never found what I sought
I feel robbed, violated
a sense of entitlement
(wrongly felt, I suppose).
Then again there is a guilt
when something is so beautiful
that there is an obligation to share it
but it was then refuted by the premature death
of this moon,
and by an acute tardiness
held tightly in a clenched fist.
Next time I promise not to miss something
so revolutionary
and sensitive to time.
It was fleeting,
we tried to catch and match it
like lining up squares of cloth to cut
"Isn't it funny how everyone is seeing
the same moon?"
Look out your window before it's too late,
drive until you can't feel your hands
or your face or really anything at all
and come back full of life.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 11:44 PM UTC
a withered husband,
failed by life
tells me the story
that keeps him
up at night-
thrown in jail
for showing his face
in a white neighbourhood
after light
while he was being
waterboarded for
his tardiness, his
wife was being
sodemised by
men in uniforms,
trashing their shack
and leaving her with a
child with blue eyes
-he was left with
ptsd and an infant
that was birthed
out of a crime
he now awaits for an
apocalyptic flood
to take him out of his
grief knowing that the
love of his life went
through hell knowing
he could’ve protected
her from such demise
he now screams to
the sky asking his
cancer-freed rib and
his adopted son
who left him in this
prison - where is
his rope or knife.
-t.m
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 7:03 AM UTC
Small Tales
by Michael R. Burch
When Artur and Cai and Bedwyr
were but scrawny lads
they had many a ***** adventure
in the still glades
of Gwynedd.
When the sun beat down like an oven
upon the kiln-hot hills
and the scorched shores of Carmarthen,
they went searching
and found Manawydan, the son of Llyr.
They fought a day and a night
with Cath Pulag (or a screeching kitten),
rousted Pen Palach, then drank a beer
and told quite a talltale or two,
"till thems wasn’t so shore which’un’s tails wus true."
And these have been passed down to me, and to you.
According to legend, Arthur and Kay grew up together in Ector’s court, Kay being a few years older than Arthur. Borrowing from Mary Stewart, I am assuming that Bedwyr (later Anglicized to Bedivere) might have befriended Arthur at an early age. By some accounts, Bedwyr was the original Lancelot. In any case, imagine the adventures these young heroes might have pursued (or dreamed up, to excuse tardiness or “lost” homework assignments). Manawydan and Llyr were ancient Welsh gods. Cath Pulag was a monstrous, clawing cat. (“Sorry teach! My theme paper on Homer was torn up by a cat bigger than a dragon! And meaner, too!”) Pen Palach is more or less a mystery, or perhaps just another old drinking buddy with a few good beery-bleary tales of his own. This poem assumes that many of the more outlandish Arthurian legends began more or less as “small tales,” little white lies which simply got larger and larger with each retelling. It also assumes that most of these tales came about just as the lads reached that age when boys fancy themselves men, and spend much of their free time drinking and puking! Keywords/Tags: King Arthur, boy, boyhood, ***** drinking, beer, ale, tall tales, Wales
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 12:50 AM UTC
She held a bullhorn
To his ear
And being deaf
He could not hear.
And she decried
All of his wrongs
which to his ears
were lovers songs.
She cursed him
For his tardiness
To him, his head
she seemed to bless.
She cried he was a
lazy dog.
To him, she prayed
as though to God.
Apr 6, 2011
Apr 6, 2011 at 9:03 AM UTC
With my eyes, I set the sun
Beaming reflection of burning fire.
No passion.
Just hate and anger.
Boiling bleeding blood vessels,
Resurrecting hidden sculls,
To announce another man's fatality.
Hatred and wickedness of the heart.
I am bringing you down.
Confusion set the state for
The neurons of my mind
Unkindness dripping-skip
Flip-kicking
Awake!
No sleeping.
Clock out of my entire system.
Forbidden desire of the soul.
I am bringing you down.
Pain painting.
Hurt? I'm hurting.
With a drip from the fountain of tears
I found myself crying.
The spell of unhappiness has been broken.
Selfish ambitions.
I am bringing you down.
Intensifying the tenacity of gravity's grip
Around the scope of my arena.
Tardiness and misfortunes.
I am bringing you down.
Like rotten branches of a tree.
I am bringing you down.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 4:43 AM UTC
Tears fall at the expense of absence,
Hearts fill to capacity with the remembrance of his presence,
Eyes painted rose with water pastels that smear adolescent happiness,
We live to remember and die to live forever,
Somewhere...somehow...our angel is protected,
His pain has departed and his heart will echo beats forever,
We bear in mind his tears of relief and eyes that shadow youth,
Pick a memory out of your hat and clutch it tight,
These memories keep firm the love that is never to be forgotten,
So stay strong my peers,
Remember not the absence of our angel,
But live in our moment,
His moment,
Do not grieve his tardiness,
Embrace the memories we hold securely,
Celebrate what was and not what is,
Our angel is here,
Our angel is there,
But in our hearts...
Our angel is everywhere...
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 1:16 PM UTC
This Time It's unbelievable
Seeming So Solely when Inconceivable/
I can't imagine take that in account/
No concept of time A chasm
You cash in I'll take time it's the only thing that counts/
Insipid as risk it sit in/
just watch
On my wrist for minutes sucking time/
Ticking/ analog digits/
First off Can I Get Second on
In a-bout/
Fighting time but it won't counter clock/
Wise Attrition Man
Once upon a time young fool/
Wouldn't say I'm obsessed
But stuck On time Consumed/
With no further delay shall I say ado/
Tardiness nah Not first but the latest
Big Time You can Assume/
As far as I'm concerned Not a near worry
I presume/
It's assign Denoted was it an era?
Pondering for ever
Focused/
I took time/ For myself Deep down In the Depths/ Of my mind Searching
For lost time the results? / Circles
Therefore I'll be a round
The world in 24 flat One day renowned/
Reverberate or verbally permeate resound/
Internally propagate populace the underground/
Then surface/
This Time what I found
Perfect /
you've payed time for worthless/
It is worth less this time
A designated Design/
Trying to understand what It Is
Because It Takes Time/
I may need rest Up but I decline/
I could go on forever but I'm over-Time.
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 10:54 AM UTC
I couldn’t think of a gift off the top of my head
So I decided to tell you a story instead….
Once upon a time there was a girl with a broken heart
Bear with me, I know this isn’t a very happy start
But this girl, she was broken for quite a while
She needed to mend herself so being single became her style
She locked up her heart and threw away the key
A lot of time passed before she realized that wasn’t the way to be
She wanted a change but didn’t know where to start
She began to wonder if she could ever unlock her heart
So she decided to let her guard down and just go with the flow
Until one night she put on a black dress and went to Toads for a show
She had some drinks and the night was like any other
Except she mustered up some courage and asked a boy for his number
They started talking and a few weeks later went on their first date
She was excited and then nervous because she was running pretty late
Thankfully he didn’t think her tardiness was all that rude
But the kitchen was closed so he couldn’t order any food
They had some drinks and talked for quite a while
He had on a plaid shirt and had such a handsome smile
He suggested they actually get dinner sometime
And the thought of seeing him again suited her just fine
She unlocked her heart and freed up some room
And over the next few months their relationship began to bloom
They have the perfect balance of normal and weird
And sometimes he even lets her play with his very long beard
Getting to know him has truly been such a treat
He is kind, talented, smart, and sweet
So do you remember that broken girl from before?
Well these days she couldn’t ask for anything more
Being with him has challenged her in such a positive way
So she wrote this for their first Valentine’s Day
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 5:39 PM UTC
Sometimes I catch myself thinking of you.
The way you held me captive with your stories.
The ridiculous ways you made me laugh.
The simple pleasure of your company.
But something happened.
Sometimes I remember the way you held me.
The scent of your skin is still maddening,
As is the memory of your hair.
I often professed a love for you.
To which you would reply - off handedly I now realize.
Sometimes I think of the way you dissed your ex.
You would pointedly ignore, to discipline his tardiness.
And once you had gone you answered my own words
With a curt 'too busy, can't talk right now.'
What did I do, that you are afraid of me?
Before you left you often asked, in a wistful sigh
'Now what am I going to do with you?'
Am I just some stray dog for you to drown?
I ain't your **** prison *****
Why did you use me like that?
I hear you now, across the globe.
You profess how you always try to show kindness.
And are quick to moan about how others take advantage of you.
***** I hiss through venomous fangs spawned in your honour.
How dare you gloat, when you use your friends like welfare checks.
Sometimes I remember how I used to think of you.
And my heart sickens to acknowledge my foolishness.
I hate you, because you gave me a reason to hate myself.
You ruined me, my friend!
I was perfectly content before, why did you want to destroy me?
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 2:28 AM UTC
It was about twelve hours later and the sun was on the wane
I awoke to find i'd slept the whole day through again.
nothing new
but nothing good ever comes from tardiness and sloth
both
of us know it.
I fastened to my tie pin a hint of her blue eyes
and in my heart a memory of the night and of our cries.
A man must do what a man can do
if he must then so can I,
but I'd die for a dime
to spend one more time
with the lady of my dreams.
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 10:20 AM UTC