"yada" poems
Mujhe wo aksar kehta tha
Muhabat kuch nhi hoti
Hijar ka khauf be matlab
Wasl k khwab bemani
... Nighaoon main koi soorat
Kahan din rat rehti hai
Usy q khamoshi kahain
K jis main bat rehti hai
Wo ankhain kaisi hoti hain?
Jahan barsat rehti hai
Yeh ansu bezaban ansu
Bhala kya bol saktay hain
Or uski narm palko pe nami
Din rat rehti hai
Mujhe wo aksar kehta tha
Mohabbat kuch nahi hoti
Magar jab aj barson bad
Main ne usko dekha hai
K uski jheel ankho main
Hijar ka khof rehta hai
Wasl k khwab rehtay hain
Wahan barsat rehti hai
Yun lagta hai k barson se
Wo soya v nahi shayad
Yun lagta hai kisi ki yada barson se
Usy din rat rehti hai
Or uski narm palkon pe
Haseen saay be geelay hain
Or uski khamoshi aisi k
Jis main bat rehti hai
Mujhe ab wo nahee kehta
Muhabat kch nahee hoti.
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 3:38 PM UTC
Part II of "Got 0 Followers"
aim high
to keep
it low
expectations
such an
Awesome Awful
curse
others infect
you with
don't, yada yada,
ya wanna be like
Tom, **** and Jane,
even Harry, a transgendered
friend and fellow (ha) outcast,
all with a good job
prospects of a
goodly tented long life?
so ya write poems
to nobody
about nothing and
you are pleased
to be pleasing just yourself
in writing you have
nothing to prove,
so read them
like keepsakes
ya like,
keep 'em & me hid,
in the shoebox
under the closeted
pile of ***** clothes,
special designer outfits concocted
so they keep my remains,
privatized and unsanitized,
my equity,
hidden,
disguised as disgusting
but for god-sakes
don't follow me,
unless
you want to curse us
both with
Expectations of Expectations,
then comes with
illiteracy of
Affection
then the literary
pre-tension
that always follows,
leading to
Affectation,
the first derivative of the infection of affection
yeah,
then comes
caring
and it instantly it's too late,
you're *******
right up the mental heine,
lost condemned
ruined annihilated
crushed subverted
crushed into
mental death camp suffocation of more, please ma,
can I have some more?
crap, why did you have to go and follow me?
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 8:14 PM UTC
All my poems are
The same, aren't they?
*"You're being lied to by a corrupt,
Imperialistic government,
Corporations own your soul,
We're destroying the planet's
Natural resources, making
It uninhabitable, to ourselves and
Driving other species to extinction,
Capitalism is unethical, and
It subverts the potential
For real democracy,
Yada yada yada yada
Blah blah blah"*
Maybe I should write about
Something else, but what?
I like flowers,
Flowers are nice,
Especially orchids, but
Not those weird,
Smelly ones that grow
On Callery trees... no
Those things reek like
Stale **** and sour milk.
Ah, but who could deny
The pungent and delicate
Fragrance of a rose?
Someone with anosmia,
That's who.
What, you didn't
Stop to think about,
People with disabilities?
How incredibly
Inconsiderate!
What are you?
Some sort of
Overprivileged, straight,
White, cis male ableist?
**** off, you ******
You might as well
Be a fascist. I would
Tell you to go back
To **** Germany, but
HEY, NEWS FLASH,
It's 2015, buddy,
Grow up and join
Us adults here in
The real world.
Wait... where was
I going with this?
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 1:24 PM UTC
AND TIME A THIEF
She hugged her books
to her *******
Her ******* hardening into
her Othello and Algebra.
She watched his mouth
move
alive with words
she heard nothing of
only
her name
"...yadayadaMARY...
...yada yada MARY!"
A bead of sweat
trickled between her *******
She tried to catch
her breath and
what he was saying but
it only gave her hiccups.
She squirmed
under his gaze
a butterfly
held by a pin
pleasure that was
pain.
"And that was how
I met your Dad!"
She tells this story
only when she's very very
tipsy
crying now
for the girl she was
- then:
the Shakespeare & Maths
pressed to her chest
the world
awaiting her.
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 4:22 PM UTC
YADA TASHY ( "Originator Stone" )
Outside the first snow falls.
Her wounds are photographed.
Spoken of.
Described in detail.
Technical.
The overhead microphone
takes it all in.
Being dead she is
more naked
than she ever was.
Stripped of her
humanity.
She had ceased to be
who she used to be.
She is now
merely a cadaver.
The autopsy can not tell
her name.
She is Kuzuku.
Her mother called her
KuKu.
She had been born
with a caul.
KuKu was pregnant.
She was going to call
the child if it was a girl
. . .Yuki.
She couldn't conceive what
she would call it if a boy?
It was always going to be
a girl.
She liked candyfloss
and her hair up.
Now her hair is down.
It touches her shoulders.
As if her hair were
still alive.
The autopsy
wound by wound
tells of the hell
of her dying.
The voice is
deadpan.
Mechanical.
The coroner
breaks for coffee.
Bitter. Black.
"Ya da!"
as the Turks say.
"...with nothing..."
***
Kuzuku was named after the flowering plant/rampant **** Her mother always drank a tea made from it. Only her mother called her her pet name; "Kuku!" Her blacker than black hair always seemed like a living entity in itself as it danced upon her shoulders or splashed over her clavicles. She always wore off the shoulder dresses or tops even in winter cold. I once told her she had the cutest clavicles( "rekishi no naka de kawaī sakotsu" )in history which....always made her laugh. I told her she had well tempered clavicles and she laughed even more when the pun was explained to her. She had been born with a caul...a red caul. She it was who told me the Turkish tale or the Yada Daşı and of the Yadachy.
She had just met the man who would eventually stab her to death and she was greatly in love with him and his culture.
All these little scraps of humanity could not be disclosed by the autopsy which could never tell of how beautiful she was and what a joy she was to be around.
Her death was a horror tale told by a friend of a friend of a friend and hard to comprehend or believe.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 6:12 AM UTC
Stanza 1
yada, yada, yada
...something clever
Stanza 2
blah, blah, blah
...something sincere
Stanza 3
la, la, la
...something profound
Stanza 4
yeah, yeah, yeah
...something vague
Stanza 5
etc, etc, etc
...something touching
Stanza 6
hmm, hmm, hmm
...something to ponder
Should I post this mess?
...meh...
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 11:25 AM UTC
It's broken
In a thousand pieces
All the kings men yada yada
Yet still you attempt to rebuild
Diligently picking up the pieces
Are you a fool
For trying to fix
The unfixable
Or am I
for never Trying at all.
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC
She was going on
About something,
But the metaphor
Wasn't universal.
Not like,
The funeral was as sombre as Cohen.
When I heard, ... blah, blah, yada, yada,
My attention span snapped,
Started thinking about those born
With a golden voice.
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 3:51 PM UTC
Do you smell that? The rich, smooth aroma in the air?
An omniscient amalgamation of flavorful anomalies
Ooh, I like it! What could it be? I haven't the slightest...
A persistent, wayward poet writes lonely words in the night
You mean like...? Oh dear me, shall I check the time?
Do you remember our last nightly adventure?
How could I forget? We must check the time! Quickly now!
Alas, our worst fears have thus been confirmed
A midnight poet, the most unpredictable form of writing...
Do you suppose the poor soul has had any coffee?
Well, I should hope so! What ever shall we do?
Naught. We let the pen run it's course, and in time...
But the destruction... think of the mayhem, woman!!!
Leave the poor thing, it's already a shame it's awake
No! Lay your weary head down, fellow poet, and rest...
Hollow, the best ideas remain trapped in mind during consciousness
Hogwash. I will not be hornswoggled with temptation
Though, I am correct to assume that you understand my reasoning?
Night-Write are the right-writes, yada yada yada...
So you agree then, do you not?
Well, of course! However, a midnight poet should never be left unattended!
Then we will write in the morning
Then so be it
Are you coming?
Go to sleep
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 5:23 AM UTC
da da dada yada
da da yada yada
hey hey frankie boy
they give ya praise as got no joy
hey hey frankie you
aint no slave now....are you!!
da da dada yada
da da yada you
ye are as man upon de earth
no matter
no matter
or maybe it matter!
ya da da da da yadda true
da hell wit all des flatterers
oh yeah
yea are soul true
so a guess a death thinkin.....
we gotta
jus to overwhelm da lies
with unceasing
true
truth............
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 11:17 AM UTC
I hear, "...blah... blah...blah..."
"...yada... yada... yada..."
Tsk! Tsk!
So verbose,
And redundant too.
If you've nothing to say,
One blah will do.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 8:04 AM UTC
when Noah told god,
He, was gonna save the world,
from his **** flood
(the sorry storybook, in fact, got it wrong),
god mystified, Noah well versified
how he was agonna do it,
the man with the plan
how to salve the world
two by two,
Noah replied, and that's not lied,
see below, see below,
two poems,
sorta side by side,
but not
read down, across, whichever
One Two
starts two, is multiplication,
one X two equals two
one boy one girl,
or girl whatever,
needs you, one boy
get a room, in an arc.
everybody just get a room
no god, universal remote
one tongue, inside you,
misinformation, miscue negation,
miscommunication, no care about divides,
miscegenation, the house rules,
black asian even, white, red and blue.
got wolves, deer, making hay
got The Eagles, with The Beatles
sleeping with the, gone feral, loving
zebras, the lambs,
bunk mates, making the cutest babies.
everybody's singing, we can work it out
even the cats, the dogs,
lovers of the K-nine, loving them feline sea lions,
and now everybody loves the snakes for their
long tongues, physical abilities and the resulting
****** prowess.
enough of this two by two **** were a bad divinity idea
to begin with. Everybody get a room, learn to fit,
whatever parts you got, just stick 'em in.
The Hunans I had to segregate, cause they be another type.
but whoopee if the white boys can't get enough black love,
the asians explaining the karma sutra and the Eskimos are curling their toes,
yada yada how come when it comes to *** everbody loves the other side.
When all were aboard, Noah got a beer, and said I sure hope there is some football on tv, cause everybody loves football.
If anybody sees a zebra striped pigeon, give me a holla!
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
I'm tired of this. So…so…so…flipping… tired of ALL of THIS!
And I feel like a broken record saying that, but it's true. I'm tired of feeling like I need ANYTHING or ANYONE…. I'm tired of the nightmares, the flashbacks, the lack of sleep, and the constant fear that I'm going to be hurt. I'm tired of extending myself way too far in every aspect of my life just to prove that I can do it…that I'm not completely ruined.
Truth is, I'm not so sure anymore.
Am I beyond salvation? Is there really anything left inside of me to salvage? Is there anything left to work towards?
Or is this “as good as it gets”.
You know what’s worse than NOT asking for help? Caving in and actually reaching out, asking for help….and getting no response. Just silence and blank stares. That’s worse! So maybe the therapist is right after all…the key is to Shut up and Behave because no one really gives a f@#k – no one really wants to hear what you have to say anyway! So why f@#king bother!
Friend #1: “I’ve had the worst week! My ex is taking me back to court…yada, yada, yada.. it’s the WORST!” Yes, I can’t think of anything worse.
Friend # 2: *“My boyfriend thinks he works so hard, but he doesn’t appreciate anything I do. He’s such an *** – he’s the WORST.”* Yes, he is the worst man ever.
Yes, that’s the worst thing.
Hey - I’m not alone after all- She’s sitting right here, next to me, she’s always here, lurking, waiting for a second of vulnerability or pain…and how easily I fall into her, like a welcome friend – the only one here for me – and she's right – she's here, no one else is. I’m tired of fighting now. I’m going to be her now. I am DEAD TODAY! Today I am going to be HER The strong one – the funny one – the one who doesn’t give a F@#K about anyone or anything! Because no one gives a f@#k about her!
QUID PRO QUO!
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 7:54 PM UTC
You see,
I get it.
I get it when people say, "there's nothing too big that you can't handle," or,
"God will never put you through anything you can't handle", or,
"There's no obstacle too big. . ." yada yada ********
I get it.
I get that it serves as a reminder to us that no matter what we face in life, we are already strong enough to overcome it.
It's true. I totally get it.
But that's ********
Everything about those sayings and statements is ********
I want people to look at my life—I want people to look at what I've gone through and say,
"How the **** did he do that??"
I want to look at my life,
And say,
"How the **** did I do that??"
I want to be able to say that life had me cornered, but I fought my way through.
I want to be able to say that life had me backed up, but I pushed back harder.
I want to be able to say that life knocked me down, but I got back up again, again, and again.
I want to be able to say that I conquered my mountains,
I conquered my Goliath's,
I conquered the very thing that I thought I was incapable of and unqualified of conquering.
I want to be able to say that I got through things that were BIGGER than me.
And I want to be able to say that life was pressing me,
But I got stronger.
I got better,
And I got smarter.
I want to be able to say that life dragged me to my breaking point,
But I pushed it to the next level—beyond my limits.
I don't want to say "nothing is too big"
Because to me that basically says that nothing I face is worthy of something—
That nothing I face will make me stronger,
Will make me better, and shape me into the person I am today.
Character is forged through the fire of life. And we can only see what we are made of when we take on a life that is bigger than ourselves.
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 8:58 AM UTC
She hugged her books
to her *******
Her ******* hardening into
her Othello and Algebra.
She watched his mouth
move
alive with words
she heard nothing of
only
her name
"...yadayadaMARY...
...yada yada MARY!"
A bead of sweat
trickled between her breast.
She tried to catch
her breath and
what he was saying but
it only gave her hiccups.
She squirmed
under his gaze
a butterfly
held by a pin
pleasure
that was
pain.
"And that was how
I met your Dad!"
She tells this story
only when she's very very
tipsy
crying now
for the girl she was
- then:
the Shakespeare & Maths
pressed to her chest
the world
awaiting her.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 6:32 PM UTC
It almost seems like complements define who i am… ..whether i give myself the complement or someone else does….it’s so addictive…. “O baby your so **** smart… funny… successful…yada yada yada...maybe this is true…but it’s truth is only temporary and temporary truth is never really the truth at all….it’s but a stepping stone…to then live a complement as truth is to live a counterfeit… ….don’t believe me? Then ask a casket………Mirror Mirror on the wall……..complements aren’t what they say your are at all…..yet a complement still can help you grow…. they do have their purpose…but take a complement and leave it where it is…don’t wear it like skin…..don’t believe it is your identity….lest you wake up dead covered in lies…………..
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
Simply smiling
Lenses glazed
Words are running
Drums to the brim
Do I hear it?
Sons and daughters
Parties, flowers
This or that
Something, something, yada...
Maybe not.
Feet untethered
Yoke unbound
Sailing starward
Glimpsing upon fey
I don't care to hear it.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC
Yada yada
Blah blah
Oh dat hurts
Beautifully
Copyright@2019 Dennis Willis
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 5:37 AM UTC
i get the idea against collectivism,
sure, all the arguments against
cultural marxism...
but what cultural darwinism
is proposing is: #solomonsharem -
you really think someone is
going sit there and play the mongolian
harmonica and no react
from the unconscious depths of gorilla?
all the basic and the most fulfilling
work was exported to the chinese anyway...
why **** we have a fashion
industry!
lovely!
i'll just turn one tier
softer from transgender and become
transvestite!
i ******* loath western
society... perverts r us...
i'm trying to figure out
why i'm living here...
well... one answer is: john paul zee zwei...
slobbering ********** that didn't
think of conjuring: pope emeritus.
kurwa! emertyt! spadaj!
they don't know he's a joke in the west,
and a saint in the east...
god: please! an early death!
and disney after this life!
it just comes after they tell you:
you're **** at ******* ***** hammer those nails in
proper...
that's when the gorilla in man gets ******
he's like:
****** wanna start somethin'?
oi! antifa! this chimp is telling us
we can't ****
wanna smash his libido?
and the antifa peeps go: uh, dunno... but, like, whatever,
i'm keen on hearing some sort of sound:
can't play the clarinet after all...
but then you wait...
the cultural darwinists getting divorced...
it was really nice, having had *** with
her... for about 3 months when i was 21...
we almost got married...
thankfully she was the one who proposed and the one
who broke off the engagement...
well yeah... it's the 21st century...
it's not even freudian these days:
it's not a phobia of being castrated:
it's non-literal but metaphorical castration...
which makes it doubly real.
yada yada yada... ping pong... forrest gump.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 10:34 PM UTC
The rumors are true,
Nighttime crowds, hand stuffed hoodies.
Blah blah blah. Yada yada yada.
V neck t-shirts with decals printed on the back of them.
Sweatshirts. Loose cargo shorts.
The holiday of photo galleries captured between blinking eyes.
Tickets sold half priced.
Too bad movies aren't the way they used to be.
A stigma that everything around changes.
A few empty seats, one empty stall in the men's bathroom.
A exclusively graphic depiction of unzipped blouses, unbuttoned pants.
Toilet tissue stuck to the bottom of worn shoes.
Suddenly there's a tote for whatever bag that needed to be held.
But then again we're just chatting, aren't we. Two souls with nothing to do but vandalize each other's mind.
Blah blah blah. Yada yada yada.
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 7:32 PM UTC
What will you do to survive?
••
This is the war
•
•It is here•
•
It is here & you are here & I am here
•
What will you do to survive?
••
(Hiding in self abuse is not a viable option)
(Encouraging children to hurt themselves pays well in today's
Marketplace
But in the end you too shall be destroyed)
••
So
What will you do to survive?
••
THERE IS ONLY ONE THING TO DO
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
I want to meet a psychological doctor who is Peter Pan
A teacher who is like Bill from the Perks of Being a Wallflower or that teacher that accepts Holden Caulfield into his house
Or that pilot from the Little Prince
I'll even take Dean Moriarty.
I want to be able to create an endless list of people who gave others hope but this is seriously the only ones I can think of.
I want to know an adult who has hope.
Not someone who is happy or someone who is blissfully ignorant of everything, meaning pain, suffering, harsh life, yaada yada, going on around them
I want to know one adult who has lived through cynicism and can say they know what hope is.
Just one adult to say hope still exists or just one action to prove it still exists
And I will gladly grow up without a second of hesitation if just one looks me in the eyes and says you will always have hope.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 10:23 PM UTC
Since I was very young, I had a colorful mind.
Shapes, numbers, letters, sounds, memories
have colors
and personalities.
Triangle, 4, 7, and C are all light green,
9 is an evil wizard who turns numbers into 1 less that they want to be, while 10 is the good wizard who will make any little number a teen.
Yada yada.
My mom would say,
"Don't do it like that, just--just do the math!"
And I would say,
"Okay"
but the stories would replay in my head
still replay in my head.
"Mom, do you remember that wedding we went to?"
"Yes"
"That's orange now"
"Hmm?"
"It's been a while, so the memory turned orange"
"Ahhh, that's nice honey".
I grew up trying to figure out what I was
an alien?
an angel?
a monster?
just weird?
I now know that I have
S-Y-N-E-S-T-H-E-S-I-A
that's
black yellow yellow orange black brown red orange black white red
or
0 - - 3 0 10 8 3 0 1 8
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 4:07 PM UTC
by the scarlet
across the sea
i sit quietly
the sun shines
the fan blows
the wind runs free
so little to do
so much to see
dread swimming far
but unaware
of my smile
somewhere hope lies in wait
hunting hide and seek
thinking it has hidden
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
When I look back on my past
All I see are strangers
Unfamiliar faces
Cloud my memories
Portraits all around
Hung about my walls
The faces I remember
But the names I can’t recall
Its such an odd phenomena
every man convinces himself the world cares about his yada ya
To think the universe gives a single thought
to the cost of our lost friends
a departure we taught ourselves to
fight
the light
is no longer litten
we watched it quaver and waver as our destiny was written
we saw the disappearing.
sounding throughout our hearing,
and told ourselves what would be done
But soon the notes of our heart had been restrung
we waited, heartstrings faded
out of tune, out of motive, melodies flat
The rhyme scheme of life ended like- this.
When I look back on my past
All I see are strangers
All the familiar faces
of past friends I’ve failed
Portraits all around
Hung about my walls
Force me to remember
The names I wish I could recall
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 8:03 PM UTC