Ratting on the ratings
They've been at
my stats!
it's taken them weeks,
the stupid geeks
I've gone from nine or ten
back then
to average four
or not much more
they haven't finished... so it seems...
do I feel diminished? In your dreams!
like a melting, sad poetic snowman?
the answer's a belting, glad, oh no, man!
doing all those hits
must be boring, silly shits
but although it's boring
they've sent my 'total hits' soaring -
raised to the skies my poetic cred -
you'd think, by thousands I've now been read!
sticks and hackers
may hurt my knackers
but at least these nerds
can't mess with the words
yet
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Almost Poetic
It's almost poetic
The way you speak
It's almost poetic
The way you think
The way you sleep and dream
It's almost poetic
The way I feel for you
It's almost poetic
The way we argue
It's almost poetic
When we say goodbye
Not knowing the next time
We'll see each other
You are the curved line
And I am the dot
That creates the question mark..
And it's almost poetic
If it were not so pathetic.
poem by Jeremy Rascon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Boring Lonely Day
What to do
On a boring lonely day?
How to have something to do
To keep the blues away?
I have got my papers sorted
And I am faced with a lonely boring day.
I cleaned my home yesterday.
From having a good and fun day,
I am thwarted.
The songs only make me sadder
I am having a boring lonely day.
All my games bore me now
Even when I win, it is a lonely boring day.
Having nothing to do
Makes for a boring lonely day.
And no one to do nothing with
That's the cause of the lonely boring day.
Now that I know the cause
Of my lonely boring days,
I can do something without pause
To cure my boring lonely days.
poem by Lonely People Champion
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry
Why is poetry so boring?
Everytime I read it,
It leaves me snoring,
Why is poetry so boring?
Some thing it's the art,
But it's an art how?
Poetry comes from the heart,
No wonder boys frown.
Some this it's the words,
With their displeasure,
They are like sour milk curds,
Which are too big to measure.
Poetry is boring,
Everytime I read it,
It leaves me snoring,
That's why poetry is boring.
poem by Mystykka Mysterious
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A touch of Frost for Friend Thad
From my library shelf I took
by random choice a poetry book.
I thought to while some time away
to brighten up a boring day
It chanced to be by Robert Frost
and I was hooked completely lost
I finished the anthology
and found his words inspired me
I had to try and see if I
could find the words to satisfy
the need I felt to emulate.
This poet who could clearly state
in his own style of poetry.
His own home spun philosophy.
28-May-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poetic[piers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Truth Hits Everybody
Sleep lay behind me like a broken ocean
Strange waking dreams before my eyes unfold
You lay there sleeping like an open doorway
I stepped outside myself and felt so cold
Take a look at my new toy
Itll blow your head in two, o boy
Truth hits everybody
Truth hits everyone
I thought about it and my dream was broken
I clutch at images like dying breath
And I dont want to make a fuss about it
The only certain thing in life is death
Take a look at my new toy
Itll blow your head in two, o boy
Truth hits everybody
Truth hits everyone
Where you want to be
Wont you ever see
Truth hits everybody
Truth hits everyone
Now
song performed by by Police
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm Boring
I like you and we get along great.
Like a little bit of pepper with salt for taste.
And I don't want you thinking I'm snooping just to peek,
But I got to use this minute quick to make sure this is it.
I'm boring,
Deeper into you I feel it needed.
I'm boring,
'Cause of possibilities I see.
I'm boring...
Way beyond the meeting of the greeting,
'Cause I see right now you are meant for me.
I'm boring,
Deeper into you I feel it needed.
I'm boring,
'Cause of possibilities I see.
I'm boring...
Way beyond the meeting of the greeting,
'Cause I see right now you are meant for me.
Deeper,
Are the questions of you that I ask.
Deeper,
Are your answers given back to me.
And deeper,
Into ourselves we get...
And this deepness makes us happy.
Deeper,
Are the questions of you that I ask.
Deeper,
Are your answers given back to me.
And deeper,
Into ourselves we get...
And this deepness makes us happy.
I'm boring,
Deeper into you I feel it needed.
I'm boring,
'Cause of possibilities I see.
I'm boring...
Way beyond the meeting of the greeting,
'Cause I see right now you are meant for me.
I like you and we get along great.
Like a little bit of pepper with salt for taste.
Deeper,
Are the questions of you that I ask.
Deeper,
Are your answers given back to me.
And deeper,
Into ourselves we get...
And this deepness makes us happy.
I'm boring,
Deeper into you I feel it needed.
I'm boring,
'Cause of possibilities I see.
I'm boring...
Way beyond the meeting of the greeting,
'Cause I see right now you are meant for me.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Spirit Of Poetry!
when a spirit of poetry decent,
it came
In a form of dove
When it came
Jesus became first poet under sun
And Almighty God
Was already, first poet over sun?
Using Poetry in poetic foam
Almighty GOD spoke through poetry
And he is a poet himself
Now his poetry is everywhere, and anywhere
We interact with poets
Words are like soil, are everywhere
Brighter that Sun
His poetic lights lead the way
When he likes
He will come
He will be in poetic foam
To Re-arrange poems
Schedule them in a poetic manner
On a judgment, He will met poets first
And secondly meet
Those who haven't written a poem
To Discuss similes, metaphors and personifications
Future of poetry is in heaven
poem by Jacques Sprenkie Mateya
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Three Hits
Three hits to the heart son
And its poetry in motion
One could send you down the river
Threes a strange way to be delivered
Would you trade your words for freedom
Thats a barter for a blind man
Three hits to the heart son
And its poetry in motion
Are you leveed like a treasure
Only words can help me find you
And this worlds a fickle measure
I would painfully remind you
From a wise man to your red hand
You lay covered ion our best sins
Three hits to the heart son
And its poetry in motion
Well I dream you constant stranger
With your best bloods and your anger
You say mother do you claim me
My beloved do you blame me
Well the first two might release you
But the last one sings in me son
Three hits to the heart son
And its poetry in motion
Three hits to the heart son
And the last one sings in me
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bordom
Sitting
Nothing
No sound
Not even the dog in the back
Then a song comes up
Same ol song
Never ending
I just keep pushing play
Thinking
What will tomarrow be like
Nothing
Same ol life
Same ol thing
Nothing changing
Not even the song
Not the dog barking
Not the creaks and cracks of the haunted floor
Not the feel of someone watching
Not the wish of something else
Nothing changeing ever
I guess nothing silent
Just every same thing
Boring
Im lost in bordom
Ready lets push play
dododo
Same ol song
Nothing changeing
Everything the same
Boring life
No Change
Rarely ever
Boring life
click clack
same ol anoying keyboard
Sound coming barely over that boring song
Does anything change
Or is life ment to be Boring
Dull
Nothing life
Was that a sound?
Phone ring?
Some one home?
Or is the nothing boring life getting to me?
Am I going insane?
Still no change
Nothing at all
Push play again
March 2006
poem by Jessie Li here
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If something is boring after two minutes, try it for four. If still boring, then eight. Then sixteen. Then thirty-two. Eventually one discovers that it is not boring at all.
Being Boring
(tennant/lowe)
---------------
I came across a cache of old photos
And invitations to teenage parties
Dress in white one said, with quotations
From someones wife, a famous writer
In the nineteen-twenties
When youre young you find inspiration
In anyone whos ever gone
And opened up a closing door
She said: we were never feeling bored
cause we were never being boring
We had too much time to find for ourselves
And we were never being boring
We dressed up and fought, then thought: make amends
And we were never holding back or worried that
Time would come to an end
When I went I left from the station
With a haversack and some trepidation
Someone said: if youre not careful
Youll have nothing left and nothing to care for
In the nineteen-seventies
But I sat back and looking forward
My shoes were high and I had scored
Id bolted through a closing door
I would never find myself feeling bored
cause we were never being boring
We had too much time to find for ourselves
And we were never being boring
We dressed up and fought, then thought: make amends
And we were never holding back or worried that
Time would come to an end
We were always hoping that, looking back
You could always rely on a friend
Now I sit with different faces
In rented rooms and foreign places
All the people I was kissing
Some are here and some are missing
In the nineteen-nineties
I never dreamt that I would get to be
The creature that I always meant to be
But I thought in spite of dreams
Youd be sitting somewhere here with me
cause we were never being boring
We had too much time to find for ourselves
And we were never being boring
We dressed up and fought, then thought: make amends
And we were never holding back or worried that
Time would come to an end
We were always hoping that, looking back
You could always rely on a friend
And we were never being boring
We had too much time to find for ourselves
And we were never being boring
We dressed up and fought, then thought: make amends
And we were never being boring
We were never being bored
cause we were never being boring
We were never being bored
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0026 To live in poetry
So often, poets
with their poetic eyes,
ears, minds, hearts, souls,
record actions that
are already poetry or poetic
in themselves
or so it seems
which makes it easy
for poetic poets to write
poetic poetry
as when I watch you
poised so still, sitting there,
your face against the light,
painting meeting sculpture,
still as any animal,
still as any goddess
roaming the cosmos in your mind
seeking, ballpoint poised,
the answer to some hidden
crossword clue
living in poetry
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Love From A Hate Man
screams and yells
hurt and pain
hits and kills
your love from him
is screams
your love from him
is hurt
your love from him
is hits
the love he showes you, hurts you
his hugs are hits
his kisses are kills
pain flows from his fingers to your heart
pain flows out of his mouth and in to yours with every kiss
pain flows out of his body and in to yours with every hug
pain and tears
screams and sorrow
hits and kills
is his love to you
I Do Not Feel Very Poetic Today
I do not feel very poetic today-
And now I make that feeling the ‘subject’ of a poem-
Once Poetry seemed to be confined
To certain more sublime subjects -
But in our time
When every Form seems to expand to take into itself its opposite
Poetry makes itself of the non- poetic also -
There is no subject apparently
Which is non- poetic
Once a poem is written about it-
I do not feel very poetic today
And these plain and unbeautiful lines
This awkward presentation
Is what I am capable of
Poem or not,
I have written it now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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In Poetic
In a way all words are poetic
Doesn't need to be set in any particular way;
for one to stomach it
"It's an injustice I must say
for a mother to never allow her son to play
to disarm belief before it take place
running in an open field of ever green
maneuvering, left and right up and down
with arms spread like flying a plane
a thunderous yell from an obscured mother
child, you have no time to be playing these silly games
make haste
you have studies to attend to"
A poetic line is not just in the mind
it's not necessarily how it sounds or whether or not it rhymes
it's a feeling one gets that sends chills down the spine
simple words of truth and wisdom
is poetic in its own right
Let me take flight
see things from a different point of view
help me take flight
maybe then I can better understand
maybe then I can see
the beauty that you sense
from this hellish land
poem by Kelvin Owusu
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Empty
No one knows what it is like to be empty inside.
No one knows what pain this comes with.
No one knows how to feel when the emptiness hits you.
No one knows what to think when it hits.
No one knows how to react when the emptiness hits.
You may think you know these things, but you don't.
I know these things.
I'll tell you.
When it attacks you, your going to feel lonely, abandon.
And the pain is excruciating. oh my god it will make you want to cry a lot.
When it hits you will think about death, not just anyone's death, your death.
And you will react very badly to feeling empty.
You'll start cutting your self, a lot.
Once you start you wont stop.
So Beware.
poem by Shannon Welch
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Stupid Cupid
stupid cupid
on that stupid day
hits my stupid heart
with his stupid arrow
stupid blood flows
from my stupid heart
and you are there
stupid enough to
just watch me
on that stupid day
i fall in love with you
and so stupid enough
i never tell you
and you are there
on that stupid day
watching me
and stupid enough
you love me too
but never tell me
stupid day stupid love
stupid cupid stupid us
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You are what you do. If you do boring, stupid monotonous work, chances are you'll end up boring, stupid and monotonous. Work is a much better explanation for the creeping cretinization all around us than even such significant moronizing mechanisms as television and education. People who are regimented all their lives, handed off to work from school and bracketed by the family in the beginning and the nursing home at the end, are habituated to hierarchy and psychologically enslaved. Their aptitude for autonomy is so atrophied that their fear of freedom is among their few rationally grounded phobias.
quote by Bob Black
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Words
Sticks and stones may break your bones,
but words will never hurt you.
Stupid, lazy, burden, cripple and helpless.
These are just a few of the words I
heard a mother say to a child.
And now, she sits there wondering
why her 35 year old child is not as out
going as I, and why her child seems afraid to even
try.
Well, the reason is as simple as words.
Great, smart, good, able and excellent.
These are the words I heard when I was child.
Yeah, sticks and stone do hurt you,
but so can words.
There Are Thousands And Thousands
there are thousands and thousands of poems
written everyday in this world where we, whether we like it or not,
still continue living, breathing, writing, sighing,
whatever that we do, singing, bathing, playing, mourning,
there are thousands and thousands of poems
thousands of us, doing the same boring things in this world,
you are one of us, we are us, us, us, us,
thousands, and trillions, we are us,
despite, i have my ears for you, my eyes,
all for you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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