"uninspiring" poems
“You are the leaders of tomorrow”
They told us over and over
Right from the tender age of three
Through childhood and adolescence.
We have outgrown our youth
We are now mature men
We have come of age to lead
Just as promised decades ago.
At a recent gathering
Our leaders of yesterday
Stricken with age and power
And long overdue for retirement
Addressed us, saying,
“Bla bla bla, bla bla, bla bla bla…”
“You are the leaders of tomorrow”
That last statement jolted me awake
From his uninspiring, boring speech.
Then it dawned on me
We are a sleeping generation
We have long been waiting- sleeping!
When we should be leading
*Our greedy, power-drunk leaders,
Will die in active service!
They will NOT hand over to us!
Not if we sit and wait for them*.
I had a revelation that the “tomorrow”,
We were promised “yesterday”
Is fast becoming yesterday, today!
And while the Nigerian youth sleeps
His chance is being usurped by his fathers
Yesterday we heard this promise
Today we hear the same promise
But come tomorrow, we will be too old to lead
And our children’s turn, it will be.
We have been scammed of our future
By the very ones we entrusted them with
And like turns in a game of scrabble,
We have missed ours- forever!
Our leaders are old men
Who have no faith in youths
And come tomorrow, our children,
Will have graves to look up to
Because we would have no experience
From which to advise them…
And like an unwanted track on a CD
Our generation would have been skipped
By the geriatric push of a ⇒ button!
© Raphael Uzor
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC
If shallow lakes hold your beauty in their waters,
I do not care to break their stilling surface,
Water lilies and reeds of wild grass do not tempt,
Because where do I find more, once the image falters
With little more than a gaze at the lilies? Their grace,
On the surface, is all they can give for an attempt.
In shallow lakes, I can see their bottom is nigh,
So to swim is not feasible, nor delightful;
To merely wade in a shallow pond — uninspiring!
Alas, to surface from deepest parts yields but a sigh,
And if waters here were to drink, it would not fill my soul,
Still beautiful to gaze upon, but after little time is tiring.
So I indulge myself in the vastness of the sea,
The depths are endless, and the storms are foul,
But in the ocean deep, when I start swimming far,
The waters are an infinite sea of fantasy,
To be swallowed whole within the temptest’s howl;
The deepest depths will heal the deepest scar.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 7:44 PM UTC
Born first out of everyone.
Be perfect.
Dreams taken away, childhood taken away.
Be perfect.
Work from spring morning to winter dusk.
Be perfect.
Work for only pride.
Be perfect.
Last chance, first break.
Be perfect.
**** your time.
Be perfect.
Lynch your imagination.
Be perfect.
Bomb your audition.
Be perfect.
**** your body.
Be perfect.
Forced to fight his vision.
Be perfect.
Pay the ultimate price.
Be perfect.
Sell you endless lies.
Be perfect.
Sell lies to your friends.
Be perfect.
Forced to live a new life.
Be perfect.
Uninspiring schools.
Be perfect.
Puts you in despair.
Be perfect.
Bitten by critics.
Be perfect.
Water leaves more thirst.
Be perfect.
Perfect.
Perfect.
Perfect.
Perfect.
Perfect.
Perfect, for everybody else.
But when does perfection become self-loathing?
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 5:38 PM UTC
Dusty,
music fills a sweet soul when
Hungry,
life grows from fingertips.
Torn,
shreds of the uninspiring
Write
words painted across skies.
Water,
The dead metaphors with ink.
Breathe,
life into the unturned stones.
Discover,
the bright flowers of imagination.
Nurture,
your ink and your blood alike
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 9:53 PM UTC
If you do come to Australia
don't think just of the kangaroo--also the dugong
the koala, the platypus, the wombat and the Tasmanian Devil
and learn to sing Waltzing Matilda the nation's most-loved song
far superior to Advance Australia Fair (believe me)
our uninspiring national anthem (most Aussies would agree)
and the lyrics were so badly
written-- no wonder Aussies could never sing the song properly
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 8:02 PM UTC
I was eleven, the first time I saw you.
I thought you were sweaty, and that your hair was too long.
I had just skipped two straight months of school,
they had told you about me and I hated that.
I was twelve, the first time I met you.
I remember my classmates were uninspired
and equally uninspiring.
I wrote things for you, I wanted you to know that
I wasn't like them.
I not only thought things through, I couldn't stop.
I wrote to keep from going crazy.
You showed me your plays,
your poetry,
your short stories.
You showed me college english textbooks
full of various prose,
each one flavored slightly differently.
You showed me The Giver,
and Dead Poet's Society.
I wondered if you really fancied yourself
the captain,
leading your charges into vast fields of knowledge,
and what's more,
appreciation for the knowledge.
You were the teacher that made kids
want to teach.
You looked after me.
Made sure I was fed.
Signed me up for extra credit,
even when I said no.
You showed me what it was like
to have someone's support.
You showed me love.
When I went to high school
we stopped talking,
except for the occasional email.
But I had a boyfriend
And I smoked ***
And I didn't want
to let you down.
When I graduated, I sent you an email.
Explained everything.
I begged to see you,
to talk about all that happened.
You never replied.
You died the week before I received my diploma.
Since then,
I've been going off of soundbite bits of advice
you once gave me,
trying always to remind myself that I can do this,
because
you showed me.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC
When my mind is at rest I think of peace and blissful things
I see the unfettered and innocent smile of a new babe in arms
Or the Omnipotence gilded arms outstretch showering blessings
The shores of a pristine beach with blue waves marking times
Silver sunset sprinkling magic across quiet waters with no stressing
Or me sat at my fathers feet as he reads engrossed in his charmes
My mind rests easy in places of warmth and enriching lovings
My mind has no space to linger in the murkiness of failings
I do not plunge dark dept to court the uninspiring s in terms
To share company with wretches with wasted mental ecthings
Eyes that see dew in darkness and acrimony in fruitless farms
Voices made for howling dirges and apostles of negative cravings
Demented downers who drink from the fountains of fallen vamps
Satiated miserably they seek to retch their stench on followings
My mind finds the luminous stars and praise their spark-lings
It atunes to the silent melodies of sages who now sleep uncramp
It relishes the delights of the million trillion wonders tinklings
Its marvels the joys of the thousand mothers holding new champs
Can share the lifting dreams of hopes for happy new beginnings
Living is never about waste for the Creator avails no dumps
For a mind that lives and grows in the Light is forever inspired and inspiring
Copyright LaurencA.1stAugust2018.All rights reserved
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 7:54 PM UTC
THE FEAR OF NORMALITY
THE FEAR OF APATHY
THE FEAR OF ORDINARY
THE FEAR OF BORING
THE FEAR OF REPLACEABLE
THE FEAR OF SAMENESS
THE FEAR OF CLICHE
THE FEAR OF BANALITY
THE FEAR OF COMMON
THE FEAR OF DULL
THE FEAR OF SHALLOWNESS
THE FEAR OF TRITENESS
THE FEAR OF VAPID
THE FEAR OF UNORIGINAL
THE FEAR OF INSIPID
THE FEAR OF PRETENTIOUS
THE FEAR IN UNINSPIRING
THE FEAR OF TRIVIAL
THE FEAR OF AVERAGE
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 3:39 PM UTC
I imagine Darcy on the cliffs, beyond which the sea,
his blonde hair, so now so very, in his eyes so that he has to tip
to see
everyone and everything more than two feet tall
which is a lot.
Mostly I imagine my joy at seeing my son
older. i don't know why that is thrilling.
to think of the man in him emerging more and more
until it reaches a tipping point
but now that makes me sad
and I am thinking i will long for these days when he bites
and smacks Kayleigh in the face with trucks and is unreasonable in his greed
to burn so bright
When we get future sad, we are imagining
that the object inspiring wonder
and our own type of greedy enjoying,
will leave a gaping hole
and there will be nothing to love so
un-holding-backingly
which is why it might be nice to
practice a little
now
to lean out the bus window a tad more
and love the stupid frog
on the woman's umbrella
or the rain that refuses to fall
on the stupid frog
or the cloud that refuses to move until the rain
stops being so uninspiring and vague
or the roses, oblivious and sunshivering together, in the garden
that was once a great secret from me
and is no more.
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 6:33 AM UTC
In the D.A.R.E. carnival ride s.u.v....
Passing out bubble gum and baseball cards
helping the children in need.
There is a treat coming to your school:
Story time statistics of the (dead) letter of the law.
Uninspiring the children to a life of drug abuse.
Since they know not the (living) spirit of the law.
Drugged for childhood,
the self-abandoned --
immature in their nihilist chemistry.
In the D.A.R.E. carnival ride s.u.v.,
passing out bubble gum and
baseball cards; helping the children in need.
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 11:01 PM UTC
Time begins to run together,
several Olympians spread out.
And in their rushing they ford the same pace,
forge the same face,
until just one runner runs the race...
Thus time runs together.
Its followers cease to worship difference,
for they find none.
The farmer is as his absent crop: absent.
And the river boats between the reeds, empty of its fisherman.
Today is similar to its precursor
we call yesterday.
Tomorrow is just as uninspiring.
I break the legs of completed things
and projects are idle in the sky.
For time runs together
and change does nowhere play its game.
The same living room window holds the same, repeated light.
Jul 20, 2011
Jul 20, 2011 at 1:41 AM UTC
1.
Love,
There is no other name
Some know it and some don't.
2.
The world is
On my plate, with forks.
But I need a good sleep first.
3.
Chocolate melts in my mouth
Slowly, or I can hasten.
So is ***
4.
The yellow powdery sand
Covers the earth.
A live chicken in oven, with spices.
5.
Old Time, like fireflies
Flickers hope once and stops
So is our uninspiring life.
6.
My son's eyes
Are the new stars.
You say we spin in space.
7.
Night is like a pitcher
Of black thick energy drinks.
Day's catastrophe is right at the corner.
8.
Facebooking, tweeting
Downloading and tid-bits.
Nothing like sunny walks in the open field.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 1:20 AM UTC
i smoke cigarettes out
of sheer boredom,
not the kind that makes you
want to **** yourself, no
a different kind of
boredom
probably the one that
makes you want to do nothing
but sit and enjoy
how pathetic you are.
the streets are dark and
uninspiring
a bit like my past
where everything that happened
happened without a sound
my birth, how much i hated
company as a young girl,
my sister's birth, my brother's time
in jail, the pathetic love of
my pathetic life.
but it's not pathetic when
it's unnoticed and this
sad excuse of a poem isn't
the last i write, nor is this
cigarette the last
i smoke.
-- Eleanor
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 10:39 PM UTC
It is not always easy to express one's self
When his artistic creations are never placed in galleries
They are often forgotten of
Sitting there gathering dust on a storage shelf.
It seems as if ten more people are at the same task
As which you create with
Comparing their outcomes to your own
Your light of hope fails to light
Due to many missing you that must express
such visions
A dog starved to the bone.
Eyes meet the other exhibits
As your kiosk is primarily never sought for business
The confidence of challenge is there, however, it soon melts away
When all of the hard work which you have placed
in expressions for the world to see
Fade to darkness like the "dark side of the moon"
As night simply ends the days.
Questions remain about what you are truly "gifted"
at or "ahead" of other game pieces on the board game of life.
When so many are inventive such as you
One too many is a crowd.
You pull down a fake smile. A fake shrowd.
Now the net is neutral
Damaging my once vibrant flow
As my hands are now tied to how I can grow
The rules of the game are now many and harder to get around
Like a roadblock in your sight of your future
The air begins to become too thin and your mind weighs heavy
As the cut in your creative inventiveness
Bleeds too heavy and needs a "miraculous" suture.
Needing others on my team
Every time I seek out such
I'm the "driver x" at the "speed races"
and the "forced gun" to bear uninspiring
and lonely expressive paces.
Is their justice to the laws limiting one's freedom of expression
just to protect those in the "top few?"
When the own half of the platform on which you try and "compete"
However, you are too small to be seen as "you."
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 4:12 AM UTC
Forty minutes at a station
Lasting an eternity
As I waited in anticipation
You a beautiful vision
Fulfilling our dreams of passion
Forty minutes at a station
Lasting an eternity
You arrived walking casually
Breezy and in a hurry
You stopped for me indifferently
Forty minutes at a station
Felt like an eternity
You told me the time of your departure
And an e mail to your employer
And we had limited time together
Forty minutes at a station
Felt like an eternity
I wondered why you loved me
My mind's eye was forcing me to see
My love had been blind to your falsity
Forty minutes at a station
Was never an eternity
It was short and uninspiring
You were detached and unengaging
My love for you was withering
Forty minutes at a station
A lifetime of an education
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 4:51 AM UTC
wonder gifts instant wings,
soar up, see the magnificence, with new eyes.
when one stops wondering,
life gets uninspiring.
Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 3:50 AM UTC
I am what no one writes about-
I am pink lipstick and elbows
I am neither delicate nor passionate
I am clean socks and the lack of smell that television has, when compared to books
I am what no one writes about-
I am shirts which hang rather than draping over supple skin
I am walks on the beach cut short abruptly
I am the itch at the back of your neck
I am what no one writes about.
I am what no one writes about-
I am unrebellious but unsuccessful daughters
I am unpeculiar unspectacular and uninspiring
I am underappreciated when underdressed
I am unthought of and unspoken.
I am who no one writes about.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC
Everything I say is uninspiring and redundant;
I used to be able to string words together
until they interlaced into something beautiful
but now the words can't seem to reach my mouth.
I'm paralyzed.
That's the only word to describe it;
paralyzed.
When you try to inhale but you can't.
When you try to move on but you can't.
When you give it your everything,
but you simply, ******* can't.
So life now consists of the little things,
negative thoughts and self-medication,
bad habits and self-mutilation;
sometimes bloodied,
sometimes bruised,
sometimes both.
And I won't pretend to know anything because
ignorance is kinder on damaged hearts.
But I called to God and he didn't answer.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 3:51 AM UTC
Nothing can stop me now
not even this brick wall
that was filled with selfish emotions
of everyone that told me
that I couldn't do it
no one can break something this tall
however solidified it is
not even heaven and earth
can stop me now
as I trudge through
with heavy stomps toward
my goal that will keep me alive
in this uninspiring world
filled with vexatious people
I will do what I want
to achieve the highest standing
of emotional wellness
and pursuit of a thing called
Happiness
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 9:10 PM UTC
Thieving and burglary - deliberate
indulgent, ignorance, waste of opportunities - deliberate
drinking, loose morals, bad company, drugging - deliberate
lazy, stupidity, state dependency in viable health - deliberate
babies for welfare payments, employment avoiding - deliberate
hate, envy, jealousy, lies, slander, crimes, drunkenness - inadequacies
Racism, ignorance, small mindedness, pettiness, belligerence - Low scale inherent characteristics
Betrayal - engineered
Loss of employment and brilliant career ruination - engineered
alone and social isolation - engineered
lack of intimate relationship - engineered
Rudeness, screams, fractured relationship - engineered
economic stagnation - engineered
Physical limitations - engineered
In the woke civilisation of the great Island
Psychopaths Social and structural Engineers march in Red
In raving anodyne tones the entitled ivories do the twist
Please ignore all the listed deliberate glaring omissions above
No! you see in deluded grandeur
Its time for the blame game, its time for the blame game
Its all the fault of the immigrant
who studied and worked to make a better life
especially that black successful one
with everything just going well for him
we didn't boat him on on the Windrush
He's not cleaning our roads or in the factory
He's not fetching and wiping **** in the Hospital
He's not even into crime and supplying our drugs
No! No! No!
He is a leech and a parasite
He is responsible for our miserable uninspiring life
Comrades, join us, the Revolution is now
They say I suffer, I have pain
How can I, I wonder
when its all your engineered and dramatized work
of which I am not in the least responsible!
And you know it!
Narcissists, Psychopaths, Depressives, Mentally challenged loonies
We give you your Revolution, please enjoy the spoils!!!
Aug 25, 2019
Aug 25, 2019 at 7:23 AM UTC
Ordinary is so uninspiring
Does anyone strive to be ordinary
setting sights on the status quo?
Extra-ordinary seems better
More exciting and interesting
More the stuff of success
But the ancients prayed with zeal
and sacrifice every evening
that the sun would rise again the next day.
They strove to appease and please their gods
So that the rains would fall in times of drought
So that babies would be born
and seeds would sprout.
And on death’s threshold
we bargain for one more day
to spend among the Living
Laughing and Loving
savoring the ordinary things
previously overlooked.
Lord
Let me see the sunrise one last time
Or hear a gentle rain
Or hold a newborn baby in my arms
before these ordinary, everyday things
Vanish with my last sunset.
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 7:16 PM UTC
Cowardly moments are uninspiring
And you have proven to me,
That you are afraid
If took me forever to see that your passion is flat
To jump in, or fall in
Would be against your nature
You run as fast as you can
Because you're the furthest thing from a man
I don't know whether I can or will,
Hold on, to you or your memory
I feel at liberty now I'm no longer affected by your pull
But I hope, for your own sake--someday your heart can be full
It kills me I don't get to be the one
The girl you finally stop all the cynical games for
It just can't be us, 'cause when push came to shove
We were nothing without those games, my love
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 8:38 AM UTC
Four pale walls cage her
Colorless and uninspiring
Leaving a taste so bitter
Breathe
If she leaves now she'll feel ashamed
But if she resides any longer she may not make it
Her mind races
Her skin crawls up and down her arms
Perfection has become perfect hell
Darkened by the mask she leads to believe is herself
Images of shadows in the distance dance by
Invading a vessel that is nothing more than helpless
Breathe
Her body feels as if it is shaking from the inside
She is to weak to stand, to weak to fight
She feels faint, thin as a skeleton she collapses onto a bed so familiar
But so far from home
His face imprinted in the back of her mind
Her heart quickens
The pills slowly slip down her parched throat
Breathe
She dreams to escape
She dreams to be close to him
She can still feel his touch though he is long gone
The color in her face has diminished
Her soul needs to be filled once again
His smile awakens the song in her heart
The twinkle in her eye
His kiss restores her
His eyes keep her warm on the nights she feels she will freeze
With him...
She can
Breathe
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 10:07 PM UTC
the repetitive days grow tiring
so extremely uninspiring
as i remember the times when things were so simple
where we had smiles so big you saw dimples
the dusty chalk left on the porch stairs
the house's unfinished repairs
the creak of the wooden doors
the kitchen's tiled floors
the chipped paint on the walls
and none of it bothered me at all
my mind held no worries
my heart was never in a hurry
oh, to go back to the days
my teary eyes look back in a gaze,
looking back on the shadow that it once was
i want my adrenaline rushing from running too fast
i want the green stained knees from sliding on the grass
i want to taste the salty tears on my cheeks from scraping my knees
i want the calluses from climbing sticky trees
i want the brush burn from going down the static-feeling slide
even if the bruises and scratches make me cry
i would go back in a heartbeat
because those days were oh so sweet
being a kid on Grape Street
©L.F.
Mar 29, 2020
Mar 29, 2020 at 2:27 AM UTC
I guess it would be kind of nice to learn
that spitting sweetness never gets you far
in early morning daylight. There's no charm
in forceful flames, when we will always burn
with uninspiring silence in return.
When finding fears that rise with the alarm;
dark, tempted lips insist on causing harm
then choke on rotten candies of concern.
I guess it would be nice to be taught how
to keep my bitten tongue secure and still;
to sleep through early mornings and allow
incessant pleading rest from overkill.
If you, my sweet, once chose to be around,
I understand why you’d have lost the thrill.
Jun 8, 2019
Jun 8, 2019 at 6:45 AM UTC