Like a Bat
He...
Of mundane ramblings.
Seeking attention that does not come.
He is stunned.
Wishing such isolation,
Would attract.
He...
Of mundane ramblings.
Is like a bat.
Hanging!
Only to scare,
His own reflection!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
We're horribly mundane, aggressively mundane individuals. We're the ninjas of the mundane, you might say.
quote by Andy Partridge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cinderella 's Ramblings
Tonight I am Cinderella
And my roommate is my fairy godmother
I bathed in scented soap given to me by my bestfriend
My roommate curls my hair
I struggle with what to wear
Most of my clothes make me look fat
I settle for a safe outfit
My roommate accentuates my blah outfit
I put on make up and cologne
I wear my nice shoes
I'm all set
My friends pick me up
We all go to the party
I look nice, some friends tell me
I thank my roommate in my head
The dancing begins
I try the two step and the polka
I'm not very good at it
Played the frisbee tortilla
Almost won but not quite
Talked to people
Danced some more
And time flies
Now it's time to leave
And I must say goodnight to a dream
Until the next time when I will be Cinderella again
But unlike her, I came home with my shoe
And no prince's heart in tow.
-Ramblings. Not quite a silly rhyme, not even a poem. Just ramblings.
poem by Mavreen Rose
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Narrow, Shallow and Mundane
Narrow, shallow and mundane.
Many have decided to resist this and split.
And not try to make any sense of it.
A peace of mind obtained,
If it can remain sustained...
Should be valued and claimed.
Along with a name that is not defamed.
To sit and witness a twistedness,
Is not healthy to absorb to maintain in one's brain.
See the narrow, shallow and mundane,
As a motivating factor to quit.
To allow the Sun to lift,
From a drenching rain.
It is possible to live life without conflict.
Separate from those,
Who have made this their reality.
They are in a collective mix.
And fixed...
To being narrow, shallow and mundane.
What more proof does one need of it?
Is there reason to argue this with them?
Is it?
Unless there is an enjoyment received from abusiveness?
Is it?
Along with the name calling that has no shame.
Is this something one should miss?
Is it?
Is something with the others who insanely accept,
In a gleeful derangement set in mindsets to exchange...
That addicting?
Is it?
So much so it can not be forgotten and left to leave,
To rot.
What is the need to feel attached to that?
Why can't these afflictions if not wanted...
Can not be dropped and stopped?
What is it with 'this' that is so hypnotic?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Welcoming To Set New Challenges
If one keeps a pace to face life,
With a welcoming to set new challenges...
Without seeking first to qualify fears,
It is doubtful if someone like this...
Stops with curiosity to witness the mundane.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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This is Not Poetry
This isn't poetry
These are just the ramblings of a madman.
poetry is written by educated men, about deep thoughts, splashed with
color and sprinkeld with verses that I can't even understand.
but this is not poetry,
These are just the ramblings of man barely sane, dancing on the razor sharp edge
of madness, flirting with insanity, mumbling to the friends I created long ago,
dancing with these vague ethreal beings that lurk beneath the glaze
of my tortued and red rimmed eyes.....and liking it.
Poetry is written by great men, but I'm am not great
Poetry is written by wise men who can string together rythmic impassioned words
that soften the heart, and ease the troubled soul, but I am not wise,
Poetry is written by men of deep feeling but my feelings, have been numbed
by whatever chemestry prescribed or not, attempting to numb the stinging acid
of the hateful words aimed always at me.
Poetry is written by people with great thoughts,
but my thoughts remain hidden, and buried.
Buried in pain, and rejection. and in the hooded eyes of the strangers,
that whisper as they pass me on the street, and yes even anguish, did you
know I was capable of that?
This is not poetry... I wonder what is.
These are just the ramblings of a madman
If I could peel away the calouses that surround my aching heart and expose the
hot volcanic passion that hides lying within, would it suddenly become poetry?
or would it still be the ramblings of a madman, danceing on the edge of sanity
and liking so much the dance?
I thrill to this madness, the insane dances are my best moves. Money I have
none, and meals even less I have my madness and the voices of the damned that
struggle to stay alive beneath my pasty skin. This is not poetry, this is madness,
I dont get poetry.
You laugh at me, and I laugh at you laughing at me,
laughing at the aching madness that paints the lines on my angry wretched face
I don't think this is poetry. Do you?
This is just a taste of my madness. I wonder what would poetry demand of me?
If I opened up a vein and let my blood flow down my chest and fill the cracks
in the sidewalk that spell out my name would that be more poetic?
If I shook and cried and begged while tears rolI down my face I wonder if that
would that reach you? Would that be poetry?
If I tore off a piece of my tortured soul and threw it at your restless feet,
would that be poetry? I wonder, if I could die of anguish right here before you,
would you call that poetic? But no, these things
would still be the angry ramblings of a madman thrilled with the anguish of my
chosen life and living alone with the pain with which it rewards me
And liking it more than you could ever know............Hey can you spare a quarter?
poem by Wilfred Owen Bitner
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Insanity
There is no such thing as normal, just mundane
To swear thou art normal is profane
In each heart morsel, I beat pain
And go to the clinic and claim am sane
And others doth be insane
To my affliction, and my hurt vanity
All around me is a circle of insanity
I attempt to imprint myself on its orb
But in its vortex I doth absorb
The populace, society, and its ignorance
Mundane, profane, pain and insane…..
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Stoic, Mundane And Unemotional
Stoic, mundane and unemotional.
And these are qualities you believe,
People are seeking in a true leader?
Of what?
To be a tour guide,
For a family of vacationing trees?
We have already had those in the past.
And many of them that were led...
Are still trying to find their way back,
Into the forest.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Truth
It is Truth
If what reality dwells in the mind
Is completely presented.
It is untruth
If what reality dwells in the mind
Is veiled and presented.
The ebbs and flows
of the mundane pursuits
and the Perpetual Truth
both alternate
and reside in the same mind.
If the encountered
mundane reflections are obliterated
The Eternal Truth glistens
In greater degree by its own visions.
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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Mundane
The definition
Normal
Just a rendition
Of average life, boring enough to lull
You into a sleep of mediocrity
Settling for second or third best, because it's easy
Not having an opinion just being unstable and breezy
And silent like the wind... that's me
The kid that's just there and then
Then just gone, no more
Not something to abhor, but worse- unknown
Talent not shown
Intelligence, not shown
Character, not shown
Promise not shown
And stuck with mundane
Stuck without a chance to prove
Just who
I am, because of silence, because of pain
But one day I'll show them, who I am one day
In a world less fey
They'll see when silence doesn't suppress
The person inside
In that day when there's no reason to hide
But for now mundane
All my efforts in vain
But hoping for something more
Even for
Eternity
poem by David Knox
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Out of Touch
NOW you're wishing for clarification?
For something I expressed,
You suggested came from my frustration.
I wasn't then...
Nor have I been frustrated at all.
My observations do not set me up,
Not for that kind of distressing fall.
But I don't understand what had been obvious to me...
Isn't clear as crystal,
By those who should have seen...
The spreading of this mental disease.
That supplied deceit to fulfill fantasies.
I can not clarify for you NOW,
Comments made on a path I have observed and passed.
Whatever you are experiencing in your mind,
Is for you to grasp.
And I refuse to help you unload your issues,
For a point of view that seems to bother and confuse you!
Remember you were the one who said then,
I had been out of touch!
Consider me NOW completely out of your reach.
I have no needs to have my peace of mind released.
Or have it ceased,
To listen to your ramblings about fading beliefs
That have kept you imprisoned!
Will you step to the left please?
You are blocking my light.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Isolation
In fear every day, every evening,
He calls her aloud from above,
Carefully watched for a reason,
Painstaking devotion and love,
Surrendered to self preservation,
From others who care for themselves.
A blindness that touches perfection,
But hurts just like anything else.
Isolation, isolation, isolation.
Mother I tried please believe me,
I'm doing the best that I can.
I'm ashamed of the things I've been put through,
I'm ashamed of the person I am.
Isolation, isolation, isolation.
But if you could just see the beauty,
These things I could never describe,
These pleasures a wayward distraction,
This is my one lucky prize
Isolation, isolation, Isolation, isolation, isolation.
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ceaseless Ramblings
yack yack yack yack yack
many words spoken
but near nothing said
the ramblings of a five year old?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Moods of the Macabre
Fragmented by each malevolent mood
tranquility would boast in abundance
whereas abhorrent ramblings enfeeble
sustaining one's savagery of the mind.
How macabre does it feel to believe,
that once a traversty is committed
another takes it's place in elegy;
towards it being forced by vengeance.
Not to incorporate the calamity it brings,
but how reverberate can move such things.
poem by Titus Llewellyn
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Lenten Thoughts
A time to reflect
On our lives
A time to deflect
Attention from mundane things
A time to repent
For all our misdeeds
A time to make peace
With our misguided friends
A time to abstain
From food and wine
A time to pray
For those in pain
A time to thank God
For all that we have
A time to pledge ourselves
To doing good whenever we can.
poem by Sandra Martyres
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Craving The Mundane
No one I know,
Has stated to have a craving for the mundane.
With wishes to again taste nostalgic visits,
Or have a yearning to recreate those days...
That have come to replace,
Horse powered covered wagons...
With cars, trains, boats and planes.
Many people are slow to adapt to change.
Only to remain complaining about their lives...
They have chosen to keep the same.
Dull, unimaginative and stagnant.
No one I know,
Has stated to have a craving for the mundane.
Or have found themselves debating over,
Interpretations of life and who does it wrong or right.
And why is it addicting to snoop a sniff of someone's life?
Where are the sacred limits to this affliction?
And those who procrastinate should infuriate everyone.
WHY?
These are the people who advocate,
'It is never too late.'
While taking time and finding money to waste...
To chase a reliving of those 'yesterdays'.
To then accuse others of being impatient.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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To Then Leave
The seeking to get attention business,
Isn't all what it cracks up to be.
Those who seek no attention,
Are chased by those disbelieving,
No one wants to keep peace selfishly...
To be left alone.
And these might be the ones who first sought attention,
Initially.
Now...
Those who seek to get attention,
And with passion disguised by a lust...
Accompanied with deep breathing,
Could frighten someone seeking just to tease.
To then leave quietly...
To then go home to self satisfy.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Gotta Watch Your Greenbacks
The jungle,
All leafy glory in one deadly place.
A boastful frog, his monotone drowning out all around him.
Each jungle bird jockey's for a spot in the song,
All syncing to the ripple of the stream.
The arrogant frog, with his ramblings.
Thwarts the beautiful song.
How unhappy is he?
poem by Nightmist Moonshade
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Cape winters (EM Du Toit Rondeau type)
On the Southern tip of Africa when the southeaster blows with mighty main
oak trees sway, break and are uprooted on the shores
while people shelter indoors
from the daily sieving winter rain,
sunless life seems mundane
while doing the same chores
on the Southern tip of Africa.
Sunless life seems mundane
while people shelter indoors
oak trees sway, break and are uprooted on the shores
and the storm wind rattles every windowpane
on the Southern tip of Africa.
poem by Gert Strydom
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I didn't like mundane life.
quote by Jeanne Calment
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Is It Together Are We Wishing The Other To Be?
If it isn't about me
Nor is this about you...
Then what on Earth are we attracted to?
If I like what I see...
And you say the same of me,
Then what is it together
Are we really seeking?
You say I don't listen,
To your scattered conversations.
I want to understand...
But you take off with new sensations.
And I'm to comprehend,
Which one ends before another begins?
If it isn't about me
Nor is this about you...
Then what on Earth are we attracted to?
This hasn't been mentioned...
But I think you are seeking attention.
And I wouldn't mind,
To receive that from you sometimes!
If I like what I see...
And you say the same of me,
Then what is it together
Are we wishing the other to be?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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