"underwhelmed" poems
I stood there.
Staring.
A snow-capped peak stared back.
I became exceedingly captivated.
Captivated by the thought that he and I existed;
Existed now.
Existed here.
Existed together.
I became a shell.
A shell filled with explosive joy.
And I could no longer become underwhelmed.
Nor could I become whelmed.
I lived.
I will never believe in myself more,
Never trust in Creation more,
Never be enveloped in the stillness more
Than I did in that moment.
Glimpsing that skyline.
Staring down a mountain.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 5:26 PM UTC
swimming in a dropout ocean
drowning in disease
scented waters sleeping in
discussing bended knees
swelling ear drums underwhelmed
living in a giving tree
standing under shadowed rainfall
continuously breaking keys
taking time run out tonight
climbing my own refugee
single spirited willow jars
sorting through debris
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 8:00 PM UTC
Nine months after I was born, the Twentieth Century began to collapse.
East Berlin,graffiti-mural concrete, a jutted enigma scratched
on ordinance maps, the sort found
landscaping westernized Primary School walls.
Where within, labored in real time, the television told my parents
(and everyone else given to social conservation in 1989) that a wall falling down
would bring an end to the gap between the working and the working poor.
Freedom waited for many on the other side.
But of course, History draws up different plans.
Never content to just go out with a bash, or to
fleetingly drift by leaving
in its absence an underwhelmed lull
The bloodiest century yet
left the new world entrenched
in an odyssey of hatreds
handed down from the past
right about the time human suffering became a bit dull
and the peaceful countries were too busy
tripling their money instead.
What does History really teach us and what are the real benefits
of being free, or freer than you were before?
Human ambition, which burns it way out of any oasis of calm,
which calls children out of sleeping in the night
Always seeks out the exhaustible
An inveterate Black sheep leading astray
the ever susceptible ****** lamb
Delusion’s strange bedfellows are the worthiest adversaries
to run away from, to reserve contrition for.
Unlike the inevitability of uprooted animal migration
during a monsoon swell
Can a people with an invested addiction
to the pursuit of happiness
Ever truly be prepared
for the inevitability of rapid change?
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 6:00 PM UTC
One check of my accomplishments,
But furthermore a verification for skills,
The art of conversation shall be my judge,
And my experience so far my partner in crime,
As the master of this angelic pen I'll suffice,
Even if they find me underwhelmed,
Or leave with disappointment without another word,
It is only proof, I have too much to improve to give up!
One way or the other, I find my hand guide the way,
With gentle movements, a delicate caligraphy has been created,
Thus, a deep breath, calming my tired nerves, helps me relax,
A clear mind is required for a difficult task after all,
And so, my hand gently, softly calls for the cover of this pen,
Time flew past without distraction, confidently,
Handing away this work I wait for the results,
Starting to become nervous down to my very core,
What if it wasn't good enough?
~ Umi
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 10:46 PM UTC
Ms. Love & Mr. Understanding -
They go together like
The mists of love & misunderstandings.
Ms. Love was 15, Ms. Love woke up
Now Ms. Love is 25 with no one to love
Except memories of yesterday, once upon a far away
She met a boy - same old story - now he's gone and now he's all she
Wants – but they both have moved on
Yeah they both have moved on…
Or haven't they?
Dan understanding understated undemanding
Underwhelmed to find his hand in hand in hand with Beatrice Blanding
She's a nice girl in the right world and though she may not be the right girl
She loves him dearly
And he loves her… nearly
But is it nearly enough?
Looking for love behind all the wrong doors
Like you came into the bedroom and forgot what you came for -
Is it something different, is it more of the same?
Was it someone else, or is it me again?
Dan understanding gives Ms. Love a call
He says I've missed too much of your life already I can't miss it all
Oh, what say you wanna play? I'm on a train I'm round your way
I'm up to here with being brave, I want to see what life could have been
Do you know what I mean?
Do you mind if I lean in and…
Kiss you?
Looking for love behind all the wrong doors
Like you came into the bedroom and forgot what you came for
Is it something different, is it more of the same?
Was it someone else, or is it me again?
Ms. Love & Mr. Understanding -
They still go together like
The mists of love & misunderstandings.
Feb 21, 2011
Feb 21, 2011 at 6:29 AM UTC
born of blood
from a thorn
of a beautiful flower
from the love
of the horned
adorned
in power
cowering
in the vicious
maliciousness
of the constituents
in the deliverance
to my ridiculousness
saw
twisted shapes
and contorting faces
heard
blurred words
displaced
in hateful slurs
of aggression
and i cannot count the cases
in my tasteless confessions
in my reluctant concessions
in my brutal perfection
of my obsessions
imposed against my will
you're supposed to feel
what they do
right?
opposed to killing
for the thrill
but it sometimes
just feels right
shanky gone unscrupulous
shivering
his shimmied
blood on the walls
stuttering stanleys
still silly stringing
calling for candy
but missed last call
and fell to the floor
as Bruno butchered the boar
in a deplorable fashion
a crime of passion
we were hungry
rubbing our tummies
for the honey
of bee hives
jive turkeys
turning to bunnys
for good times
but we were alive
while others were not
fraught with darkling majesty
sparkling at the seraded points
disjointed
in Freudian
ointments
self anointed
as god
standing over
some butchered
brod from abroad
wiping the fog
of dislodged
eye sockets
from my grog
how you get
from there to here
isn't really a fair mirror
on my intention
i meant to
suspend her
just enough
to face f--k
and with luck
strangle her
but she prayed to be ripped down
in her own way
my f--king way
stripped her
of dignity
wimpering
in little cute sounds
who am i?
but the guy
who spaced
hit her
too many times in the face
and replaced her
facelessness
with ***** toiletries
disappointingly
underwhelmed
still in search of a fairy
to take the helm
and ferry me
from this film
disparagingly
just spare me
the tragedy and grief
blaring from the TV
as i mock
their expressions
in my lessons
of humanity
before the flock
to shelter
my anxiety or not
gonna be
a real boy one day
and conform
to the
wayward ways
the way
of sheep
sleeping
soundly
in decay
blue fairy
gonna
marry me
one
day
be
real
one
day
one
day
1
d
a
y
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 4:52 PM UTC
I am not overwhelmed; I am not underwhelmed.
I just lack motivation.
I am not lazy, nor apathetic,
I simply lack motivation.
I want to run a mile but I have the willpower of a corpse,
Wanting to just fall apart and decay so I can fertilize the flowers
So maybe then I’ll be useful.
Wanna go for a run?
Take a pill.
Wanna be normal?
Take a pill.
Wanna forget your depression for a while?
Take a pill.
Take a pill.
Take a pill.
I want to go to parties,
Make friends,
Write words that flow seamlessly across the page
With clear intent of my feelings at 3 am,
When I am supposed to be at my most creative.
Instead, I stay at home on Netflix and the only thing flowing
Is one episode to the next.
Wanna go out without anxiety?
Take a pill.
Wanna not act all spazzy in front of everyone you speak to?
Take a pill.
Wanna forget your anxiety for a while?
Take a pill.
Take a pill.
Take a ******* pill.
But you want to be a productive member of society?
You can’t just take a pill.
Pills help you get up and make you go on with your life.
They don’t give you motivation.
Nothing can give you motivation.
Hope usually does, but I’m all out of that.
I know if I wasn’t, I could do or be whatever I wanted.
I could be a successful businesswoman,
I could be known for other things,
Like my ability to stand on a stage and perform.
I could even be a writer and properly end this poem.
But I simply lack the motivation.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 10:40 PM UTC
Another day, riding on emotion
Seldom ever breaks down
but I don't have the potion,
To fuel my being.
Lucky to be alive
but there's something I'm not seeing.
Lapped around similar 'scapes
Falling all the time,
with all the scrapes to prove it.
My body itself is a high-powered vehicle,
just hope I don't lose it,
Prematurely with the things I've been doing.
Sometimes I see surroundings pass by but
it doesn't feel like I'm moving.
Reach out to those that could use it
Lead them away from the mentally abusive.
I'm still there though,
the expression on my face even looks weak.
Guess I just hit bleak patch,
but again I'll maintain a satisfying streak
Innocence never left,
But the breaths are slowing.
Used a bit of what I had left to fill up an inner tube,
My body's too weak to maintain how I'm flowing.
So I drift off, into another realm.
A place where people are underwhelmed
And stay to help each other grow.
This place exists at a point in time, but when,
I may never know.
So I'm taking a vacation from my mind
that constructs an absurd blur,
Keep living for the kids and kisses,
and moments that creates blisses
Love and writing are my life preservers~
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 7:26 PM UTC
i spend my days sighing away, digging away at each layer of disillusionment. when will i get to the bottom of this? when do i get to see my bones, all bleached out to a lifeless tan? when do i get to poke them around like live coals, desperately reviving a dying fire? when do i get to see myself, in my highest, truest, most foolish form, and have the closure — both underwhelmed and overwhelmed?
i've lived longer than my younger self would've allowed; tell me, did she know me much better? did she live just long enough for me to inherit her despair? have i gone dancing too much with illusive lights, only to get home heavy, burning, and blinded? did she know it all along? did i know it all along?
tell me, was it all for this? tell me, in the name of all my splendid highs and in the drawn-out silence thereafter — is this it?
Mar 2, 2022
Mar 2, 2022 at 12:32 AM UTC
It isn't the days that hit me
hard, it is the nights
When, I admit it, I am overcome
and underwhelmed and shaken
I am ashamed to be a human being
To be a part of a race that so violently
mocks any shred of real humanity
And I am selfish and wretched
And I want to love other people
But all it does is make me feel sick
What are we doing to each other?
Self-destruction never stops with you
Perfection is unattainable and that is alright
Not enough understanding
And too much fear
I am proud and I am wrong and I sin
But I would rather dance the fool
I would rather never heal
Than watch what damage we do each other
This is our world we've inherited
But it will ever be on loan to our children
Children who will grow up
To be riddled with the fears of a dying world
And to be burned with the hate
And wickedness we have been sowing for ages
You can't fix it all
But when you are faced with a choice --
Your agency cannot be stolen
Your deeds will define you in ways none of us understand
And I wish to God
That I will make those who are yet-to-be gladdened
Aug 10, 2011
Aug 10, 2011 at 5:22 PM UTC
I am often overwhelmed by how forgettable I am
or maybe underwhelmed
would be more accurate
my parents told me that I will be number one
to someone someday
but it’s hard to believe
when you’re not even number one
to your parents
like the moon with its uneventful craters
I eclipse the sun (only for a bit)
A nuisance, nothing more
than a quick shadow
until the sun gains back its glory
always the bridesmaid, never the bride
I watch as everyone else walks down the aisle
and marries intelligence, beauty, success
while Bacardi attempts to numb the reality
that I will always miss the bouquet
but I’ve only been to one wedding
and six funerals
which says more about me
than the deceased
I’d like to think that black is my color
he used to tell me I looked **** in my midnight dress
though no one tells me I look **** anymore
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 11:21 AM UTC
As I lay in the corner
hunched over in tears
you stand before me in shadow,
we've not spoken in years.
"How are you, what's it like?" I implore,
met with comfortable Silence:
Enlightenment galore.
Though you have not recently
been in this realm,
you seem to be fine
and quite underwhelmed.
"There's nothing quite like it"
you reply with a grin
"It's almost like someone
got rid of Sin,"
"Why is it you wish
to know what it's like?
Perhaps you would like
to come on a hike?"
"No, I'm not quite ready
for that I'm afraid;
I've too much yet to do today,
there's much Art to be made."
"Ah yes, so I see
this seems to be true,
but who cares for such Art,
Art made by you?"
"I care not for how many care for it,
but I do care that anyone does at all.
I wish to immerse myself in all kinds of expression,
to preclude a sort of subconscious regression.
I care not for those who seek profit, like you,
but I would like to perchance become a Prophet anew;
though not of an -ism or even an -ology,
though perhaps for some secular abstract new-found old Spirituality.
One wherein all is but creative Godself
looking at itselves
in trillions of shattered mirrors
upon multidimensional shelves
and, odd though it may seem,
All is One through it,
yet as separate, All dreams."
"You, my Child, may be a gift unto Man.
Were I alive, I'd be your number one fan."
"You flatter me, Apparition,
but you were already my fan
far before my Path ever even began.
Still, I must ask, if indeed I can;
O familiar Ghost, tell me, what is thy plan?
"My plan, my Child, is to live on within you,
to continue your journey upon this thy subtle Path.
To set ablaze this boundless passion I sense within you.
To live in the shades of greys between the Black and White
To know that you are alive.
To know that you ever lived.
Your Mother and I both deeply love you
and though I have died, I live on within you."
And that was the last
conversation I had
with my dear old friend
that I had in my Dad.
T'was not in the land of the waking
this conversation was had,
t'was in a dream he spoke to me,
my ethereal Dad.
I seek neither pity nor compassion for Pain,
I seek only to try to explain
the infinitely vivid field of Experience
to which we're all subjected by some strange spirit valence:
**Thy Path, thine in Time.
You walk it for a reason,
even if obscured.
Time unfolds thy Path,
yet before Time was it set;
thine and thine alone:
Let no thing stray thee from thy Path.**
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 4:57 AM UTC
Underwhelmed with modern magic, I let myself be taken
to a party on a strange night.
Like you, I let my lips whisper abracadabra and
kept my fears in one subtle hand.
Like you, I wanted to vanish the crowd
under a napkin -
to palm everyone into a cup under the table,
leaving a beaming new face - radiant eyes and unfamiliar tricks -
to abandon all the showmanship
exactly where it belongs.
And when all the faces peeled away to
a lively midnight wilderness
you were there, a magician
and prestidigitated into smoke and mirrors
every artifact of doubt.
There is nothing I would like more than
to have a drink with you
to have a cigarette with you
to have anything at all with you
and learn your secrets:
A longing for names unmentioned and eyes still incredulous,
and a reverence for fairy dust.
Watching the room empty,
hearing the soft chatter of their private marvels
we are alone, as we ached to be,
here, to tell our secrets, and they are these:
we are in discord with love
skeptics, so unfit for
the careless faith and
grasping vigilance of hearts our age.
Now, in this cabaret,
"goodnight" is ensorcelled into a curse, and
"come with me," a necromancy uttered
to give to dead hopes new dimensions.
Here, I would read every book under the sun,
work my fingers into knotted idleness,
believe in every fantasy
to learn your secrets.
Under the snowfall, we kiss like Chinese rings
but you know as well as I do
that quick enchantments are a thin fable,
and instant magic does not exist.
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 10:45 AM UTC
He was a boy with beautiful eyes
and an appreciation for colorful socks and generic tea.
A boy that played the drums and went to festivals.
The kind of festivals that left him longing for a proper shower
and his mother's pork belly stew.
He dyed his hair a fitting shade of black
And though he was underwhelmed by the idea of anything romantic
his use of smiley emoticons was enough to make up for it.
He taught me the importance of learning to appreciate cheap wine
and the power of using compliments sparingly.
He was the kind of boy that would be fun to spoon,
or so I assume
because I've never met him.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 12:50 PM UTC
Exceedingly underwhelmed,
I found myself in awe
of my own vacant stupidity.
Oh, how we often
fail to grow wiser,
and instead lose
our clear vision
with time,
the way the rain blurs
the window
yet cleans the air.
Oct 6, 2019
Oct 6, 2019 at 5:07 PM UTC
I’m spinning in the
Underwhelming haze of my own imagination
I’ve been in your hometown before
Familiar is your soft husky voice that is
The only lullaby to my ear
Yet the need to hear your conscience
Is still just as desperate
As a whisper to the sea salty
Atmosphere of our love.
You, and only you bare nothing of my knowledge
You, and only you hold permit to my inside.
Yet you are the only that has not had me, or my knowledge
For you have chosen as yet not to take it.
You do not have the right to it in your eyes.
Because everything in this world works…
Backwards.
As I work in a mirror
Of a hundred pieces.
Oct 30, 2011
Oct 30, 2011 at 7:31 PM UTC
One nation under assault,
one nation under pressure,
one nation claiming greatness against
an outdated measure.
With liberty and justice stockpiled commodities
and legions of disgruntled youth
left to deal with the atrocities.
One nation under-loved
One nation over-policed
One nation claiming Jesus
wearing the tell-tale mark of the beast.
With hate in the left hand, and hate in the right,
and both hands balled up like we're dying to fight.
A New Day, they call this perpetual night
This suffocating darkness that chokes out the light
And EVERYBODY THINKS THAT THEIR SIDE IS RIGHT.
One nation underwhelmed by the policies they chose
One hypocrisy of a democracy, calling their own stink a rose
One thing after another, no wonder the kids are cynics now,
thinking "You CAN'T make it better, WE don't know how."
Love is lost in the struggle between apathy and hate
America, the beautiful. America, the great.
America, the fractured paragon,
We cling to ghosts of a changing time
We've fallen for the distractions, and
our pedestal is too high to climb.
Oh brothers, oh sisters, what else can we do?
If you'll look out for me, and I look out for you,
just a ripple in this pool of ****
may clear the waters, just a bit.
But as long as there are white votes
black votes
Latino votes
left votes
right votes
there'll be no vote of confidence
in the future of these divided states.
We'll rip ourselves apart,
tear out our own heart
waving our flags the whole time
and claiming no blame for the divide.
God Bless America,
and do it quick.
All sides of this society
are dying or sick.
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 1:52 PM UTC
Here we are born:
The ill-prepared,
The underwhelmed,
A baby,
Stillborn,
Wondering after its feet,
Watching moths commit suicide in their mission for a light.
Given no ladder, given no rope,
We pull ourselves up on rungs risking papercuts.
Slick, sick, sliding,
The war-torn machine of humanity seeks the sweet oil can only
Consciousness can deliver.
"Here lies the illustrious Michel Nostradamus,"
Asleep in a deep sepulcher not unknown to us all.
"Awake and beat I am!"
Only some fish make it upstream.
I?
I have finally found comfort,
Dear ones.
Words have no meaning
(tub erutaretil seod).
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
I’ll be flying smoke screens on Venus's ******
At the drop of the letter orange
an orangutans purse strings pulls at my wallet.
A corpse's spindle finger pointing me in a direction…
Trees bending shadows to blind the day.
A wind whispering to me in a human tone.
A madness telling me to leave it alone.
I’m so at home it’s unknown
and overly underwhelmed.
I’m grabbing at the helm,
but it was holding me afloat.
I pushed down so hard
by the time I pulled back
it broke under the pressure
of not understanding how to cope.
A final rope cutting me.
A blackened fuel from a golf swing
placing my humanity upon the desert’s green.
I could believe anything
if I will accept my own lies...
A twisted frame from a mangled mind.
It’s only just polished time
that gave us away...
A reflection show portraying all others
in directions we now sometimes go.
A final stroll down a scars
burrowed walkway
leading me back towards
the one remaining vertebrate…
An amphibian brain
in a leader of men.
I didn't even point it out,
all over again.
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 3:03 PM UTC
The child in the the gallery cafe
Was underwhelmed by her
'Children's Lunchbox'
She sneered peeling wafer thin
Ham out from between bleach
White bread
Stares despairingly at the
Cardboard, itself adorned with
Animal iconography for her
Enjoyment
She feels patronised and no
Longer hungry
Pushing both the apple and juice
Box tumbling to the floor
She makes for the door
Her mother still unaware
I have a duty to alert her
But I just watch
She bursts out onto the
Street as I reach for her
Juicebox
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
You had a method for testing the fiction
said “God’s not a bad man, but I know you need fixin’
You’re beautiful, you’re underwhelmed, anyway.”
There is a hand in the sky holding flames to your eye
but it’s not hard to tell there’s fresh swell of sighs
on its way to us, expectant, holding sway.
A court of flatterers dolled up in tatters,
I can hardly hear for the sound of their chatter--
the words they say fumble, they lead astray.
Since in the daytime I am soft-spoken and mild,
they’re all convinced I have the soft will of a child
It’s up to you to explain, I must have my way.
See, I’ve got a fine plan for testing the fiction,
God’s a good man when he’s free of restrictions
So trust in me when I say, I will pray.
Talking of sacrament, boy’s got a blessed bent
so he won’t hold me when ma says it’s not prudent--
“It’s not for a girl to say, anyway”
Here’s my hand reaching; I was born a huntress,
Come when I call you, obey when I say undress:
Here’s a test for your holiness, here I lay.
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 8:44 PM UTC
Time ticks like a clock
And rips like calendar pages
My mind has been clouded
Seems like the storms here to stay
I'm the strongest weakling
Stuck in a like full of waiting
Day to day uninspired
So exhausted from anticipation
Life is pushing forward
Rolling backwards in reverse
Looking inside my own mind
I can't tell you which is worse
Being launched forward
Traveling faster than my feet can handle
Or rolling slowly
Years until the next night
I'm overly underwhelmed
My words are contradictions
Trying to keep smart to the world
Avoiding life's addictions
Wading in the darkness
Broken up by shooting stars
Stuck inside these prison walls
My heart enclosed in jars
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 7:19 PM UTC
The familiar, the comfort, no change
So vain, much pain, feels strange
uncomfortable, disturbing
Swimming along the river
running with wind at our backs
a one eighty turn, finally ******
easy was once a dream, a goal
though lessens the worth, dead soul
mind empty with chaos
frustration and hell
feeling so underwhelmed
why must I crave this?
Smells, and visuals
euphoric and thrills
Z's float above me
trickles throughout my body
eyes chameleon
dilated cherries
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
I work hard to keep you alive,
wrapped in delicate feathers of angel wings.
It's a sacred passion of mine.
For you it's not enough
you always want more.
Grain by grain I am dissolving like a headache cure.
Rue the day when soft wings lift
to find a heart so underwhelmed,
my words engraved on it
in past tense.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2014
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 12:38 PM UTC
One nation under assault,
one nation under pressure,
one nation claiming greatness against
an outdated measure.
With liberty and justice stockpiled commodities
and legions of disgruntled youth
left to deal with the atrocities.
One nation under-loved
One nation over-policed
One nation claiming Jesus
wearing the tell-tale mark of the beast.
With hate in the left hand, and hate in the right,
and both hands balled up like we're dying to fight.
A New Day, they call this perpetual night
This suffocating darkness that chokes out the light
And EVERYBODY THINKS THAT THEIR SIDE IS RIGHT.
One nation underwhelmed by the policies they chose
One hypocrisy of a democracy, calling their own stink a rose
One thing after another, no wonder the kids are cynics now,
thinking "You CAN'T make it better, WE don't know how."
Love is lost in the struggle between apathy and hate
America, the beautiful. America, the great.
America, the fractured paragon,
We cling to ghosts of a changing time
We've fallen for the distractions, and
our pedestal is too high to climb.
Oh brothers, oh sisters, what else can we do?
If you'll look out for me, and I look out for you,
just a ripple in this pool of ****
may clear the waters, just a bit.
But as long as there are white votes
black votes
Latino votes
left votes
right votes
there'll be no vote of confidence
in the future of these divided states.
We'll rip ourselves apart,
tear out our own heart
waving our flags the whole time
and claiming no blame for the divide.
God Bless America,
and do it quick.
All sides of this society
are dying or sick.
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 7:53 PM UTC