"unironic" poems - Hello Poetry

Everybody sits in quiet contemplation Breathing like they want no one else there If they were a thousand tiny films Their songs are syncopations. Long before the scene fades out You left the cinema, you gave no credit To roll, nor any role to set it as you said With that unironic smile, It wouldn’t matter if you were dead. You said, you’d rather be unkind Than to say what’s on your mind Sizing up the mountain in the room With that cord wound up And that knife in your mouth I know I said I wouldn’t call you out On it, but you’re a thief So don’t steal, I can see it in your eyes You’re a pro At moving right between lines. So where was I in your big production? Just the money shot in all seduction? Thumbs down and out moving out We’re all our worst critic, but don’t walk out on the show I’m unconvinced; this is first of many episodes Take a good hard look at the million frames Think of all the things you cast in my name But in the dream of mine, timeless in birth It would break your heart like up there in the scene If you could bear to see it up on screen: The script isn’t how it was meant to be.

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Apr 26, 2015

Apr 26, 2015 at 9:43 PM UTC

jp-goss

That Knife in Your Mouth

Everybody sits in quiet contemplation Breathing like they want no one else there If they were a thousand tiny films Their songs are syncopations. Long before the scene fades out You left the cinema, you gave no credit To roll, nor any role to set it as you said With that unironic smile, It wouldn’t matter if you were dead. You said, you’d rather be unkind Than to say what’s on your mind Sizing up the mountain in the room With that cord wound up And that knife in your mouth I know I said I wouldn’t call you out On it, but you’re a thief So don’t steal, I can see it in your eyes You’re a pro At moving right between lines. So where was I in your big production? Just the money shot in all seduction? Thumbs down and out moving out We’re all our worst critic, but don’t walk out on the show I’m unconvinced; this is first of many episodes Take a good hard look at the million frames Think of all the things you cast in my name But in the dream of mine, timeless in birth It would break your heart like up there in the scene If you could bear to see it up on screen: The script isn’t how it was meant to be.

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She called me over when her parents left, and invited me over for a date. Before I was in her room It was advised to bring some protection. Latex? All for her to be done? ———— Latex Gloves. I pulled out and began scanning my fingers across her room. At the end of the room :vines. Vines from trees, flowers emerging through and from. An allergenic smell emitted—carving out the thick toxins as they fell onto the floor like a staircase of crumbling debris. Like pages of books falling flat onto the floor ill by the plague and far from recovery. The smell of lavendery-daffodils. Like new laundry, everything was scented in this room, by color and by smell. No visualization decoded by my eyes all because they were fried. Red and puffed. The frequency in the room, making zap-roided sounds. Electric like all the different shades of blue, a savory sound and a unironic taste. I would not want to explain because I kept it all to myself. I marveled at it all and not whatever was in front of me. I viewed her emotions as inferior to this delight of a room. Far better than anything sensory she could of course do. A distraction these walls became Overwhelming to me was not the best of both worlds. The only distractions were nothing but this interior design…

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Aug 5, 2025

Aug 5, 2025 at 8:16 PM UTC

joel-k

Suggestive Language

She called me over when her parents left, and invited me over for a date. Before I was in her room It was advised to bring some protection. Latex? All for her to be done? ———— Latex Gloves. I pulled out and began scanning my fingers across her room. At the end of the room :vines. Vines from trees, flowers emerging through and from. An allergenic smell emitted—carving out the thick toxins as they fell onto the floor like a staircase of crumbling debris. Like pages of books falling flat onto the floor ill by the plague and far from recovery. The smell of lavendery-daffodils. Like new laundry, everything was scented in this room, by color and by smell. No visualization decoded by my eyes all because they were fried. Red and puffed. The frequency in the room, making zap-roided sounds. Electric like all the different shades of blue, a savory sound and a unironic taste. I would not want to explain because I kept it all to myself. I marveled at it all and not whatever was in front of me. I viewed her emotions as inferior to this delight of a room. Far better than anything sensory she could of course do. A distraction these walls became Overwhelming to me was not the best of both worlds. The only distractions were nothing but this interior design…

23

pop a hip and dance As the path is layed for you Feel the dark irony swirl And spill your coveted secrets In vague half-meanings Talk about the unironic pills And the unironic problems And smoke your unironic drugs And drink your unironic liquor Watch the unironic ironic movies And talk about it afterwards I'm your unironic little circles And smile unironically That you were nothing but original

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Mar 18, 2017

Mar 18, 2017 at 11:56 PM UTC

BlueFlask

Unironiclly original

pop a hip and dance As the path is layed for you Feel the dark irony swirl And spill your coveted secrets In vague half-meanings Talk about the unironic pills And the unironic problems And smoke your unironic drugs And drink your unironic liquor Watch the unironic ironic movies And talk about it afterwards I'm your unironic little circles And smile unironically That you were nothing but original

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