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I hated thee, fallen tyrant! I did groan
To think that a most unambitious slave,
Like thou, shouldst dance and revel on the grave
Of Liberty. Thou mightst have built thy throne
Where it had stood even now: thou didst prefer
A frail and ****** pomp which Time has swept
In fragments towards Oblivion. Massacre,
For this I prayed, would on thy sleep have crept,
Treason and Slavery, Rapine, Fear, and Lust,
And stifled thee, their minister. I know
Too late, since thou and France are in the dust,
That Virtue owns a more eternal foe
Than Force or Fraud: old Custom, legal Crime,
And ****** Faith the foulest birth of Time.
Mark Lecuona Jan 2015
It is to the free-minded yet civil, the industrious yet unambitious, the honest yet kind, the unencumbered yet giving, the private yet civic, the humble yet wise, the quiet yet firm, the suffering yet dignified, the individual yet understanding and the lawful yet forgiving people that I raise my hand in honor and not to those who would hector us with exhortations from the offices of power or the pulpits of vanity.
FIVE-AND-TWENTY years have gone
Since old William pollexfen
Laid his strong bones down in death
By his wife Elizabeth
In the grey stone tomb he made.
And after twenty years they laid
In that tomb by him and her
His son George, the astrologer;
And Masons drove from miles away
To scatter the Acacia spray
Upon a melancholy man
Who had ended where his breath began.
Many a son and daughter lies
Far from the customary skies,
The Mall and Eades's grammar school,
In London or in Liverpool;
But where is laid the sailor John
That so many lands had known,
Quiet lands or unquiet seas
Where the Indians trade or Japanese?
He never found his rest ashore,
Moping for one voyage more.
Where have they laid the sailor John?
And yesterday the youngest son,
A humorous, unambitious man,
Was buried near the astrologer,
Yesterday in the tenth year
Since he who had been contented long.
A nobody in a great throng,
Decided he would journey home,
Now that his fiftieth year had come,
And "Mr.  Alfred' be again
Upon the lips of common men
Who carried in their memory
His childhood and his family.
At all these death-beds women heard
A visionary white sea-bird
Lamenting that a man should die;
And with that cry I have raised my cry.
Ellen Joyce Feb 2014
one, two polished leather shoe set the beat,
marks the grey tone on the broken cobbled street.

three, four silent tears pour down the face
making widows lace of the sullen slaggy place.

five, six, the count fades to mix with the collective sound
of doors unbolting and the sight of chins taking to ground,
and busy hands stilled to lay respect like paving slabs.

The tall terraces stained with iron ore stoop to kiss the head
of another working class warrior fallen to soon to his bed.
Smoke billowing from cooling towers lays low - scent of '64
dousing wreaths in docker's sweat, a local hero's glow.

The final home leaving, with no kiss from his wife,
in the fanciest car he's been in in his life.
He never expected nor asked life for much,
a job in the docks, the works - a trade or such;
four walls and a roof to sit over his head,
a wife to share his heart, his life and his bed;
a family with whom to laugh and to cry,
not striving for riches, just to get by.

Happy and sated through much of his years,
counting his laughter so much more than his tears,
call him unambitious, plain if you will,
but how many die having had their fill?

Top hat and tails, 53 steps taken and checked
one for each year lived, a mark of respect.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
western society has, what we call
an ambitious existentialism -
eastern society has, what we call
the expected existentialism -
oh, apologies for the big word,
i know how smart you are
having books for doorstops
with whiffs of the northern wind sometimes
pooping by a hello... but honestly,
the west is so ambitious and the east
so unambitious that we have
a billion Chinese and about a billion
variations of a McDonald's original advert
of: mm... i'm turkey minded to gulp
that **** in!
and stitched up like a diabetic on a diet!
hanky-tango-two-times of
a sneezing donkey's giddy-up toward Golgotha
sounds almost the same.
are you here for the touristy memorandum
hanging on your neck? me too,
i was about to jeopardise two thousand years
of human history with it, imagine! imagine
what an idiot i'd be if i'd actually gone along
with it!
Harikane Mar 2017
You are a born human
One day you'd be a woman
And you will not feel sorry
In school when you'll get your period shock
Or when you'll feel the tight thing around chest
In college, on roads, the nausea of eagle stares
The bed you'll share, the world you'll walk in
Don't feel any sorry
Just like that apple towards gravity
Its some natural propaganda
A twist, for which you need to be ready

You are a woman and be proud
The flesh between your legs or arms
Is not a shame, don't disgust it
See it, love it
And when you step out in moons
Have some iron in your wrists
To protect it
Dont bow, dont cry, dont be dead
You are the soil of the food chain
Putrefy the animals
Believe in yourself, you are worthy

You are a woman, not a punch bag
A poor drunk unambitious father,
An ignorant mother, a ****** brother
Whatever, no excuses
Nothing must stop you
Love, pity, anger, confusion
Get over these clouds like a lightening
They only rain a while, make you weak
There are enough weak people already

You are my dear daughter
And when you sit in a bus
Someone, anyone can grab you
So be a sassy bitter woman
And punch them in the nose
Let them bleed awhile,
Let the sleeping souls around know
You are not a man epitome
You need no man metaphor
No man hands, just the courage
To bring down the diseased rats

You are a woman sweet
Laugh aloud, open your mouth
As much as you want
Wear whatever you want
Be wherever you want
See whatever you want
Jump, dance, swim, play
You are the tigress in your jungle
And roar like one
Spread the word
You have no responsibility
To please the holy etiquettes
That nurtured those rat diseases

There can be a problem, love
Cause stars never liked the sun
Our kingdom may go in bad books
They can be your family
And they really love you,
Wanting to see a happy crowd around you
They are confused in the crowd
Dont get lost, be smart  
Love them but trick them all
There love should not divert
Your immense potential
The c-sections should not cut your goal
Stop juggling, messing things
Living their life is not your plate
Eat from your plate and dont hesitate

You are a woman i am proud of
Dont ever measure your success
On the world's most used calculator
If someday
You are staring out of your balcony
And in your strong heart
There is no fear, no terror, no speedbraker
In your ears, if tingy thoughts
Dont affect you,
If your hands still want to work
To bring your ideas into life
If you love the woman
The 'human'
You have become
You are a trillionaire
Only your smart mind knows
You need no proof for that

Love,
You are a powerful person
Use the power righteously
Dont hide it or waste it
Or shove it in wrong direction
You are equalist not matriarchist
You need no special que or seat
Separationalism cured flu never minds
Educate the minds, the needful
Your family, friends, neighbours
The javelin not in heads of male supremists
But a place in doubles, a seat at the table
You need no reservations
You need no 'ladies first'

Most importantly, a secret
That no one will ever teach you right
That you'll discover, when you miss the flight
That i always wanted to tell someone
You can be 'anything'
No limits, only the ones you put
Careful not to,
Like a life itself
Evolve and survive
You are a life so lovely
Live it
Come out of the buds
Bloom
So powerfully
That the gods, the ancient societies
Are cringing
Over there decisions
Love,
You are infinite
You are now.
Pk
Adrienne Mar 2016
A notch on the car seat is digging into my bare back. We never had *** in a car, in all the two years that we dated. This was our first time, which is funny, so much is over with. It is unoriginally steamy, but this makes the moon look even more muted, and I think about myself as the moon, and you as the sun, as we have always been and always will be in my head. I am intensely serene. I have just given the world’s greatest *******, and you are still kind of panting excitedly next to me. Your *** is still in my mouth. My *** has stained the seats. I am lying a little lower than you, due to the previous positioning of head to *****, and in this moment I am completely unconcerned with you at all. I am having a very silent and extremely imperative one-on-one dialogue with the moon.

And it is very strange, in one second I am looking up and the next I am looking down, it is years and years later, I am looking down at a table, I bought the table off Craigslist from some old lady in Vancouver who promised the leg only rattled occasionally. It didn’t. It rattled all the time.

I am looking down and some guy is standing above me, leaning against the wall. I remember choosing the paint of that wall, it is a light taupe. I remember feeling like my mom. I remember thinking that only a mom would look at the fascinatingly bright rainbow world of Home Depot paint swatches, and choose taupe. I had bought the table because I thought it matched the wall but I was somehow just now realizing that the colors didn't really go together at all.

He leans against the wall, and he looks familiar although I am simultaneously making him up. He has a little mustache, a shade of a beard. His hair is long, and just the right amount of messy, he is exactly what people would call ‘just that kind of guy.’ He is wearing a nice shirt, like he had just come home from work at a job that would pay enough for my parents to be happy. He has tired eyes. He has a kind smile. He looks like he would be a good father. He leans against the wall and I have an intense desire for him to sit down beside me.

I am about to ask him to when he makes this abrupt little laugh-chuckle sound that people in movies make when they’re about to give a particularly awful scripted line. “God, I dated some real airheads in high school.” He really does say the word ‘airhead,’ in my mind. He is that kind of guy. “What about you, babe?” he asks. He rubs his nose with his hand. “Did you have any hot high school lovers?”

And I am back in the car filled with provocative moonlight and innocent, angelic love that drips with that honeyed smell of ***. You have stopped panting. You have scooted your body down beside me so that it fits in a special space that over time has come to feel like an extension of my own body, where it had always been for so many sweet, pivotal, intimate moments of my life. I have a wider mouth now, and bigger eyes, but you still recognize me. I have a little extra skin around my waist too, but you don't seem to mind. Your hand rests humbly on my hip, and you look up at the moon with me. We are quiet for a while, and I cannot help but think that if the guy in the taupe room with the rattling table were there instead of you, he would have said something stupid.

I cannot thank you enough for letting us be simply who we were, in that unambitious and unassuming moment of time. And for bringing yourself to me when I wanted you to but didn't know how to ask, for never trying to be like the movies, and for not using stupid words like ‘airhead,’ for being both transient and infinite, equally and honestly, and for being the hottest ******* high school lover I could have ever asked for.
Emma Katka Apr 2019
hard to love
hard to find the time
unambitious obsessive compulsive
the small details are repulsive
reaching for anything to grab on to
under water and blue
you're always wondering what I'm up to
stop saying you want to pick at my brain
I pick at it enough on my own
sometimes I feel that if I screamed loud enough
I could burst myself into flames
passion burns brighter than most things
and winter was more than just a season
it's a state of mind that I'm ready to shake off
where there hell have I been the past three years?
I don't recognize my body
I don't recognize my mind
I'm losing track of time
but I'm on the upswing
at least, I think
I've got to swim, not sink
James Nov 2018
no ones twenty one anyhow. it's some dumb **** job of being a cameraman for your own story. some tried, god forsaken job of the unambitious. i'd rather die of nothing and leave my film for someone else to takeover. take over from where i last took off. this twenty one means nothing. dad told always hit me. dad was a drunk. he was always twenty one. i would think twenty one forever. until the old dog dies. tired of recording everything my twenties has to offer. i'd rather be the electrician of this one. let me **** someone else's shabby little story. this is my shabby little story. dad used to tell me. always hit. always be twenty one.
no ones twenty one anyhow
written in one go
Laziness it is
Carelessness
Mediocrity twisting me
Causing me to toss and turn
The warmth in the bed is too sweet
I dont want to leave
Foolishness,unambitious
Up I rise, I am my motivation
Back again.
Free style
What's of importance is that we are recurring nightmares
Observing the relativity of nimble beings
Bouncing on our tummies
We are trumpets ordering the end of the hours
We are doubts that have no uncertainty left
We are sheltering regrets
Wet with heaviness and our own importance
We may be forgetting something but it's unclear
What memory is really for anyway
So we soar among the shores of libertine mosaics
Faking our aspirations so we don’t seem too unambitious
I'm ambivalent really to the sounds of your laughter
Captivating the captors of our harmonic excavations
We shave the faces of our leftover neighbors
We create masquerades that look like parades of paper mache
We are too fresh to stay awake all day
And let them drain our brains of orange flowers
While we are floundering in the fountains of our campaigns
To correct these collective imbalances
Bard Apr 2020
Say I'm unambitious but I just wanna be rich
Wanna feel something before I'm left in a ditch
A pure love nestled in my heart but life's a *****
So long since I was able to feel a tender touch

My stony heart lacks the sense of feeling
Barely call its beating a state of being
Clay in the shape of a man pretending
That what it does is really living
Yenson Jun 2020
They call the winners losers
because they just didn't have a chance of ever winning
so its unfair to be a winner
as there are more losers and only a certain number of winners
so its wrong democratically
To be a winner who has more qualities than all the losers combined
we believe in Democracy
No we're talent-less, envious, under-achievers, twisted, jealous
resentful, lazy, weak, unambitious, nanny-ed, narrow-minded
bigoted, prejudiced, blame-gaming, ignorant, vapid, vacuous
belly-aching, jaundiced, hedonistic, spoilt, vandalistic, immature
indulgent, petty, lying, selfish, wrongly opinionated, pretentious
neurotic, back-stabbing, underhanded, bullying, discriminatory
self-serving, hypocritical, narcissistic, chavistic, deluded and depressed sourpusses this side of the world
Hey, we have Democracy and the best sense of Humour
God knows we need it..........hahaha   hahaha
Yenson Feb 2020
Witless and gullible
unambitious and narrow minded

Raised in common land by common minds
chained in us and them from birth to grave

Doubts ingrained in feeble brains where self-worth a-missing
in compare and contrast the ill-equipped in judgement dire

Aspiration is a sin only committed by the bores and level headers
in one track groove their lives meander in doubts roller-coasters

Core-less and spine-less in a valueless belief system hinged on doubts
the march of sheep on leads rally down the Blame game collectives

Ingesting the doubtless-es of the absolute doubtful charlatanism
alien to selves and introspection never in contemplation they roll

In vainglorious sham they ***** the doubts of their ******* minds
in blind vision our dear ignoramuses think we all ingest their doubts
The law of diminishing returns states that: – "If an increasing amounts of a variable factor are applied to a fixed quantity of other factors per unit of time, the increments in total output will first increase but beyond some point, it begins to decline".

— The End —