"unpleasantly" poems
Busy people…
Oh so busy people….
You step real hard when you walk real fast
With your busy scowls on your busy faces
Making busy wrinkles in your busy forehead
From thinking all those
Wondrous… and
Special…
Busy thoughts…
**** sho too busy to
Make small talk… or
Ask about… or
Even be pleasant to
Us regular people…
Oh so busy…
Would make an old man wait for 6 hours
For the answer to a 5 minute question…
Cuz you busy…
Too busy to even answer the phone
Especially… If you know who’s callin’…
Sho too busy…Way too busy…
To answer
For the likes of me… or even him… cuz
That’s not what you busy people do…
We should all
Just be happy
To have your
Wondrous… and
Special… and
Busy self
To be
Ignored by
But Oh Mr. Busy…
One day…
Mayhap…
You will look up from your busy-ness… and
Find that there are
No more some bodies
To step past real hard… or
To dismiss… as unimportant
With your busy scowl and busy wrinkled forehead
No more callers
To ignore… or un-pleasantries to share
Cuz you, yourself, have gotten
Unpleasantly old
And every body else
Is just too busy…
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 7:19 PM UTC
I
Said the Duck to the Kangaroo,
'Good gracious! how you hop!
Over the fields and the water too,
As if you never would stop!
My life is a bore in this nasty pond,
And I long to go out in the world beyond!
I wish I could hop like you!'
Said the duck to the Kangaroo.
II
'Please give me a ride on your back!'
Said the Duck to the Kangaroo.
'I would sit quite still, and say nothing but "Quack,"
The whole of the long day through!
And we'd go to the Dee, and the Jelly Bo Lee,
Over the land and over the sea;--
Please take me a ride! O do!'
Said the Duck to the Kangaroo.
III
Said the Kangaroo to the Duck,
'This requires some little reflection;
Perhaps on the whole it might bring me luck,
And there seems but one objection,
Which is, if you'll let me speak so bold,
Your feet are unpleasantly wet and cold,
And would probably give me the roo-
Matiz!' said the Kangaroo.
IV
Said the Duck ,'As I sate on the rocks,
I have thought over that completely,
And I bought four pairs of worsted socks
Which fit my web-feet neatly.
And to keep out the cold I've bought a cloak,
And every day a cigar I'll smoke,
All to follow my own dear true
Love of a Kangaroo!'
V
Said the Kangaroo,'I'm ready!
All in the moonlight pale;
But to balance me well, dear Duck, sit steady!
And quite at the end of my tail!'
So away they went with a hop and a bound,
And they hopped the whole world three times round;
And who so happy,--O who,
As the duck and the Kangaroo?
5.9k
eye sometimes go to bed wearing an old hoody. It has a metal zipper to close the front and the zipper is always cold, unpleasantly so, on my bare skin. After awhile though, my body temperature warms the metal just enough, that it is no longer a cause of discomfort though the metal still remains inherently cool to the touch
While science can easily explain this I guess, I felt this to be a major miracle. That flesh pliable and heart-heated to 98 degrees could conquer the molecules of metal that were made in China struck me as extra ordinary (always two words, please!) and nothing short of a personal intervention by a personal deity
When I put the hoodie on at first I would think
******* (that's cold)
When I awoke, cosy and warm, I would think
******* (that's so cool)
having studied philosophy in Cleveland,
I knew that the logic of the situation,
what I had experienced was not an
interregnum, but the invisible intervening handiwork of god, who, also knocked my glasses from the nightable to the floor,
just cause she/ he was in a bad mood, on account of having to come such a long way, just,
to reheat me
one more time.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 9:38 AM UTC
The bar behind the theatre was nearly empty apart from a couple of gay boys.
Well, it was a gay bar, so no ******* surprise there.
I glanced at the fat one and decided, 'No thank you very much,'
as I have noticed fat people often smell unpleasantly,
maybe it's the sweat trapped between their ********** that does it.
But the other one was very cute and I decided I would have him.
In those days, it was regarded as 'de rigeur' to buy a lad a lager and lime
before dragging him home with you for some nookie,
so I coughed up for a half pint with charm and grace.
Sadly, he was no great shakes in the conversational stakes,
but was I after intellectual stimulation? No, I ******* wasn't.
Anyway, once I'd checked his passport to ensure he was over-age
(no one wants any ******* trouble from the bigoted morality squad)
I dragged him back to my elegant bachelor orgy-pad
and stripped him off to investigate his lithe little body;
a nice smooth little **** and a reasonably clean ****
What more can you want from a one night stand?
After a bit of a damp snog and a good old *****
I lubed him up and gave his *** a right good poking.
He moaned a bit, but then who wouldn't moan,
with seven and a half inches of thick gristle shoved
all the way up their sphincter? I know I would.
After I had filled his rear end with love juice a couple of times,
I felt that kicking out was the name of the game.
Generously, I gave him a half-crown for his bus fare
as he said he was a bit short of cash, being unemployed.
It was the least I could do, as he had three miles to go home,
and it was raining cats and ******* dogs outside.
After he'd left, I checked out the bed sheets (as you would)
and was irritated to find a few skidmarks there,
or they may have been where I wiped my fingers
after having eaten a bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk.
A quick sniff confirmed my worst suspicions though.
'Ah well, true love always comes at a price', I reflected,
as I scraped the worst bits off with a nail file.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
The nature’s unpleasantly clean
Green and brown and full of wheat:
Bending wheat
Straight wheat
The wind blows
Bending and straight wheat flutter
Straight ones move out and don’t come back
Bending ones shift but always come back
When new crops grow out:
Straight ones tittle-tattle
While bending ones mind their own business
Arrogant people stand straight and empty
Intelligent people bow their heads because of their mind’s heaviness
Better to be dense rather than hollow
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 4:58 PM UTC
Having a Coke with You
is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles
and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them
I look
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it’s in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven’t gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the **** Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me
and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn’t pick the rider as carefully
as the horse
it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it
by,
FRANK O'HARA
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 12:27 PM UTC
Walking under the rain I give up,
I give up with the smell of your worries,
with the way you smile
your completely untrue stories.
I give up with the taste of your two soft, red edges,
which are part of your mouth,
with the unpleasantly sharp taste of your lips.
I give up to let the phoenix
set fire to itself and born again,
raising from its ashes.
I give up with a satisfying meaning.
I will stop trying to guess
whether I'm here or there
I will stop doing my research
before I have completed it.
I will log out before being knocked out.
I will let that great affection
work with the reflexive pronoun "I".
I give up to let the ability to recover
quickly fill me in...body and heart
I give up with a pleasantly meaning
Oct 14, 2010
Oct 14, 2010 at 7:46 PM UTC
I pulled into the Starbucks parking lot
with the force of a lion after its prey
and with the lethargy of one whom had not eaten in weeks
drudging up that last ounce of strength to obtain survival
my eyelashes had mascara from the night before
and my hair was thick with day-old hairspray
hiding behind sunglasses, I shifted my weight for relief
from the flip-flops rubbing unpleasantly between my toes
keenly aware of the headache above my eyes
I got my coffee and was prepared to flee back to my den
where I could devour it, keeping a wary eye on would be thieves
as my fatigue and I walked hastily towards the exit
Life happened. To my left, sat a couple side by side
they wore the casual clothes of confidence and serenity
he sat by the fireplace, his glasses sat at the end of his nose
her body leaned close to the man she loved, and forward to see
the book that was laid open on the table in front of them
curious minds swallowed the words that were offered there
under gray hair, hands holding, faint smiles formed on their lips
I had never seen such a portrait of true contentment
outside, the image kept speaking to my brain, despite my preoccupation
and I saw you. and I saw me. in thirty years, a virtual lifetime
our aging together; maturing, evolving, creating
side by side, ever content, with books, love and coffee.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 12:05 PM UTC
lost in a maze of gazes;
lured
to the pool by the sound; Sondheim
sung badly in a nasal twang;
cught in her lace negligee one more time;
we give the old women the benefit
of the doubtful proposition; if granny
wants to get tied
to on the bedpost - yet again;
the gallant refrain from that old song
is remade the kpop way & tuned in to
the drag subculture; everyone u know;
the prostitution used to be better; maybe
there were once better prostitutes, what
I can see is unpleasantly stink eyed; hos
used to have class before they could
switch genders back & forth; that's some
millennial **** the first celebrity I ever
became aware of was Christine Jorgensen, from the newspaper story about a man who had surgery to turn himself into a woman; a patently impossible task; in the picture in the newspaper he had on a bouffant wig & big sequin ***** working as a showgirl in Vegas in its heyday, so she was already well-known; I always thought that bit of trivial information would come in handy one day: never did
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 7:22 PM UTC
The power went out in my house for the first time tonight.
It took only but a moment for everything to run loose from my hold and to leave me empty handed and
sightless.
It was as sudden and unpleasantly startling as the moment I realized I’d
fallen in love with you
and now these vaulted ceilings and smart, leather couches have fallen
victim
to the same darkness that shrouds my breaking heart.
I think you’re really selfish.
But so am I,
and as I hide in the blackness with the amber haze of
candlelight
casting those flickering shadows of
twisted, dancing demons on the walls I am hearing their exaggerated whispers hastening me to resent you for it.
They intoxicate my head about how you’re probably being
more selfish than me.
For god sakes you sent me a short story
laden and sodden and dripping
with all of these beautiful similes and thoughts and they were
horrible.
Not only were they not written for me, but for some
replacement muse
who has beautiful green eyes (are not mine, any longer?) and a beautiful smile (have I stopped grinning at you? I wonder now how it is I lost your love.)
that conquered your heart and blasted past my deafening, mundane
inadequacy.
You say you love me
You say you wish you’d say it more
You say you love me so much.
But the demons scoff at you—they’re telling me you’re lying.
O the lies! Liar! Clever devil, that one! Don’t believe those sweet things! they admonish with a brutality that entices me to scream out loud at you,
to shout and yell and kick and scream out loud because
how dare you do this to me?
Why love me at all
When your muse beckons with her beautiful, superior, faultlessness and tempts and tantalizes and
replaces me?
You say you love me so much.
And I, you, Darling.
But it’s too dark in my house and it’s too dark in my head and it’s too dark in my heart
And you have a new muse.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 12:20 AM UTC
For some reason, the wind today feels unpleasantly cold.
Perhaps it is the by-product of my imagination but then again,
Perhaps the elements are trying to send me a message.
With the chilling winds piercing through my bones,
I can’t stop the aching from my old wounds.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 9:47 PM UTC
be gone
cold weather
be gone
from here
be gone
and show
your freeze in another
hemisphere
too long
you've tarried
too long
you've stayed
too long
a gelid touch
you've so unpleasantly
flayed
spring oh spring
bring your warmth of air
back again
to melt the landscape's
icicle encased
terrain
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 8:06 PM UTC
When the sweat is dry on my brow
I will get up.
I'll be able to focus then better, I think.
The sweat is linked to a general malaise,
where objects drift in double shapes...
Not unpleasantly.
But smarter, I think, to stay. At least,
Let the pupils dilate, and left eye
Recalibrate it's aim.
The salt and sweat malign the eyes,
which either slip too fast past the the target,
or arrive a bit delayed.
You said:
Maybe we'd be happier if we moved on with our lives.
You're seeing something in Iowa that was likely there all along.
And the more I feel like you could slip away
I become more paranoid and afraid.
Wondering now who you're with,
Whether this path ultimately leads to my replace.
Though maybe we both agree, then, with what you said.
I can't hang on to something that long got on a plane and left.
Or try and **** through wires the delusion of a scent,
that dissipates, reductively, with every breath.
Though I will rephrase, in my own way,
the sentiment I think remains:
It would be more prudent to
Let the nose and lungs to rest.
Let us be ungreedy with breath.
If you move on I will let you pass.
I cannot hold you within me,
And these cavities have not the space.
But I will taste your color again, perhaps,
In the wind, a laugh,
The wet heat of a lovers face.
I will taste your color again,
In the wind, a laugh,
The wet heat of a lovers face.
If you move on I will let you not just pass but
dissipate.
And rebuild a more modest faith:
Just once, to inhale again something like what went.
(And still remember what it meant.)
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 4:03 PM UTC
I'll start with this, a simple wish
My long-awaited dream to fly
When you told me forever, I almost believed you
And I nearly let my hidden wings unfold
But then I thought maybe you didn't mean forever, not really
Maybe you were just exaggerating
So I tucked them away, hiding them deep within myself again
Flying would prove to be very lonesome, if I had no one to join me
The second was my inner desire to become lost,
To somehow lose myself in search of uncovering who I wanted to be
But to merely pretend, and fall into the masquerade of life was too effortless
Instead I sought to be free, to find what made me different and never change
That's where we clashed unpleasantly
You always knew where you were going; you always had a plan
I only drifted aimlessly, hoping that with a hint of serendipity sooner or later
I would unearth what I was looking for
Losing myself would be rather impossible, if I had nobody to find me again
The final was the most significant, but also the most strange
My fear of letting someone in, to close the distance from stranger to friend
Or even more so than a friend
All my doubts and uncertainties revolved around you
I didn't want you to discover my soul inside and be sadly disappointed
Or maybe even disgusted with what you saw
So I didn't let you get too close, I made myself think that I wasn't what you needed
Nor would I ever be
So you see, my dear
It was very hard to be with someone, when all along I knew I was better off alone
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 12:58 AM UTC
And That was it...
an ever growing chain of chances
Each shrunken sick in manners
down to the pitiful size of mud dancing bugs
Finally foiled and boiled alive
in blood soaked tribal chants
to nothing but some cruel joke
In which I will craft myself some hazardous home
But with You
Your handsome and enchanting charm
Always and forever squirming unpleasantly
Framing My holy and collapsible sense of purpose
Leading me to be caught in those crosswinds
And with not one pathway left
To lead to another
Yes
That is it...
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 1:41 PM UTC
You’re six feet tall and more feet apart
from anyone you claim to be close to.
Struggling to breathe and a defunct heart,
in denial of prophecy; inevitably it came true.
You didn’t even pretend you ever cared for me,
we both know we’re not the ones you wanted to see.
If only you could realize what was important in life,
maybe you wouldn’t face the close in strife.
If only you could realize what this was all about,
maybe your funeral wouldn’t be cardboard cut outs.
In your last breath of air,
was there regret or despair?
It’s the ones that you don’t peg for depth
that seem to never be fully understood.
I’ve watched how easily they’ve wept,
and immediately reverted back to wood.
You didn’t even pretend you ever cared for me,
couldn’t care less; we’re supposed to be family.
If only you could realize what was important in life,
then you wouldn’t have replaced your kids and wife.
If only you could look back on all those years,
maybe you’d hold your kids instead of your beers.
No invite for dining with the dead,
no faking pleasantries unpleasantly.
Breaking promises along with the bread,
and never present even presently.
No invite for dining with the dead,
ignoring a mess while eating messily.
Smelling copper while tasting lead,
feeling separated both separately.
In your last breath of air,
did you notice we weren’t there?
In your last breath of air,
did you start to care?
No invite for dining with the dead,
no faking pleasantries unpleasantly.
Ignoring last call and ignoring bed,
my mental exhaustion is kicking in mentally.
No invite for dining with the dead,
ignoring a mess while eating messily.
The scene will remain within my head,
and my refusal to be desperate has grown desperately.
Jul 31, 2021
Jul 31, 2021 at 8:40 AM UTC
a durable foundation creates a tall tower;
unfaltering in it's demeanor, anchored at peace.
why do we under romanticize stability?
building a house upon the waves knowing it's a
ticking time bomb before cascading our living
rooms into the ocean to sink beyond our reach.
i don't want my knit orange blanket under the water,
or to feel the roaring sea salt overflow my lungs ever again.
but i get it; wanting to wake with sun kissed skin and
dust the sand off your cheeks while cotton candy skies
shine into our eyes bringing a brand new day to us.
(having *** in the sea could cause a UTI, sand is unpleasantly itchy, and boys are poison, ******* take a shower and go home.)
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 6:24 AM UTC
Where has our honesty gone?
The world is spinning out of perspective
Individualists
More like conventionalists
Wanting to be a free soul
Instead, we’re losing control
How do we define different?
“Different
A pseudo-polite way of saying something is unpleasantly weird or unacceptable” [www.urbandictionary.com]
What about individual?
“individual
Individual's may actually conform, just to prove that they are individual from other individuals...
There is no definition of an individual, for to define an individual is hideously oxymoronic.” [www.urbandictionary.com]
All of these rules and ideologies
Which become more like mythologies
Giving us a…what… purpose?
Because without one were all worthless?
How does the media propel
Drive some great minds down to hell
But wait, sometimes those scars
Are not the real person they are
What about the girl next door
Is she perfect? Or is she a *****
How come the prepped up ****
Gets a thousand girls to put his ****
-Y attitude towards
What about all those hipsters
“individualists” in all their glister
PROTOTYPES
We are always followed
“To be, or not to be”
Now THAT is a real question
Why cant we all just BE
F R E E
Within our own minds
Refuse ourselves to be confined
But no matter where we go
The world will be a tv show
[scripted and masked]
Because the crazy professor who screamed in the crowd
Did a small scene from a movie out loud
And the individualist across the street
Got her haircut from Georgia O’deet
While the artist down the road
Saw his painting when it snowed
Though its obvious we refuse to admit defeat
Individual doesn’t march to its own beat
Nov 7, 2011
Nov 7, 2011 at 1:42 PM UTC
Aggressively inverse algorithms
Unpleasantly traverse towns
within them
(Sideways symbology stains soulless surroundings)
An uninheritable playground
Dangles in sustaining silence
Passable problems pretending that perhaps a passer by plans on picking the winner
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 3:04 PM UTC
I didn't see your mysterious, where you hid it
So you came here to me with your theatrics
And played the most affectionate dramas
Indeed i fell, like a pack of cards, oblivious me- fell graciously
I have seen your mysterious, where it is hidden
So the next time you come with your enchanting acts
And roll my frail heart into a toy ball to be flung at your discretion
I'd assume your act, having mastered it, and play you too
OUI
Play you like you once played me
And indeed you'd fall, you'd fall like a pack of cards, to your own game, unpleasantly.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 8:16 AM UTC
Selectively mines, on conditions that I don't step out of line, don't dare ask too many questions because it makes you answer with more questions where I'm turnt into the bad guy,
the one who doesn't understand, it's all my fault somehow, it's because of me, I failed to give into to ridicules accusations or allow defeat, I was pushed past the point of breaking ,
I even lost me a few times, I've been insane for as long as I can remember but this time it's completely different, I wake to walk in fear every hours of the day,
I'm made to feel ashamed for loving you, told I'll never be as good as the one you're faithfully into someone whose not even known you not the real you not as I do,
seed after useless seeds polluted a once healthy womb, drop after drop tears fell hard on shadows passing me up,
leaving me for what may become a happy ending to this fairytale nightmare,screaming myself away flinging covers off of me, laughing as I cry out darkness, so dark and the scents nostalgically unpleasant, the many times her scents lingered on you
even in thought I conjure up the smell of lies, the musty deceit, the filthy metallic accusations thrown at me
Selectively mines when it suites your ego and when it's not inconveniencing you, I'm turnt into the bad one the person whose always to blame,
the one who
doesn't understand,
it's all my fault
somehow,
it's because of me,
I failed to give into
to ridicules accusations
or allow defeat,
I was pushed
past the point of breaking
the reason you need her - where I no longer have a place, I had no choice too, I had to move on.
Hardest things to do when your reaching for a hand but end up with straws, darkness and no help, dreams unpleasantly real, craving a touch a kiss, to be notice.
**Knock knock,
whose there?**
*No one....
Just your
Wife of 11 years.*
Always Me Ayeshah ®
Copyright 1977 - Present ©
K.A.C.L.N ©
All right reserved ®
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 4:26 AM UTC
Muted skies dim the light, as deep dark clouds roll across the big wide blue
The air is alive with the anticipation of electrical discharge
The wind whips up, catching the vane, spinning it round unsure where to point
The temperature drops, but not unpleasantly, as it cools the skin and soothes the tension
Drip by drip it all begins, each single drop picking its own spot on the dusty road
Sparsely and sporadically, as random as the stars in the night they plot their course to earth
Within seconds the duration between drips lessens and the unblemished dry becomes the spots
The heavens open and the deluge commences, spots turn to puddles and puddles to pools
Soon the gutters are awash with ***** water and debris; small streams emerge and meander across the roadways
People scatter and rush for shelter, shielding themselves from the rain with whatever comes to hand
Then all of a sudden lightening comes fourth, with the grandest of entries, splitting the old oak in twain
Black too its trunk, burnt by immense power, leaving it dismembered in a cacophony of sound
The rain doesn't ease but steps up in pace and fills all the dips and curves in the land
Then as if the taps have been turned, it slows and stops and the sun peaks around the corner of its shroud
The blanket is lifted, the brilliant sun is now back in all its glory and the temperature rises once more
Within an hour the air is humid and the road reappears, the storm has passed soon to be forgotten, but not by the once mighty oak
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 10:47 AM UTC
It was Monday
you walked me home,
and i was (very) pleasantly surprised
even though
my face was hard and cold
and focused on the newly-tarred road
because I remembered you weren't mine (anymore) after all
We made small talk
but that was it
I wasn't really listening anyway
It was Tuesday
you walked me home
and i was (very) pleasantly surprised
(i was hoping, but not expecting)
I let a small smile play on my lips
when you reached for my bottle and took two sips
I asked about the names you gave to the cats (the ones i rescued just for you)
It seems you told me yesterday
i guess i wasn't listening; you repeat them anyway
It was Wednesday
you didn't walk me home
I walked slower than usual
in hopes that you might catch up
And i constantly looked over my shoulder
in hopes that you might appear
I tilted the bottle to my lips (the one you tilted to yours on Tuesday)
and took bigger gulps than usual
In hopes that plain water might wash away
the dissapointment and angst that caused me to sway
It is Thursday
and i don't know if you would have walked me home
I hope you are (very) unpleasantly surprised
when you find out that it's too late
because i'm gone
because you were the only one
who could save me from myself and everything else
because i'm gone
and you're never going to walk me home again
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 9:46 AM UTC
Why do we settle for just good enough
That everyday thinking makes life unpleasantly tough
Why do we care what others will think
That everyday thinking makes our best thoughts shrink
Why don't we reach for everything best
That everyday thinking makes us just like the rest
Why do we say we don't think like that
That everyday thinking makes us lazy and fat
Why can't we tell people how that we feel
That everyday thinking hides a love that is real
Why is it bad to want all that feels right
That everyday thinking give us feelings to fight
Why settle to just make the best of it
That everyday thinking makes a mind so unfit
Why do I settle for everyday thinking
When thinking like that my dreams begin shrinking
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 6:32 AM UTC