Best Banalities Poems
Like an archaic humanoid dinosaur
you plunder through life taking no prisoners,
with your philosophical knuckles dragging on the ground.
You are a dying breed born of privilege and tenacious greed,
tendering little in life other than your selfish need.
What is it you seek in life other than your very personal comfort?
You never give a sideways glance to anyone with no chance of adding to your
circumstance; narrow minded cruelty subsidies the shutdown of any
tenderness, allowing emotional banalities to supersede integrity.
Your karmic debt is too cancerous to be free -
a lover of women among inept men,
but piteous fodder for contempt among strong women.
Neanderthal, you tossed love off the tongue like spit flung and stung my cheek with
runny dung....in disgust I turn away at your insipid attempt at manhood.
So many conquests, so little time.
The pittance you gave is but a trail of unwitting shame,
littered like Gretel's bread crumbs into a wilderness of pain...
How sad you thought such a pittance could buy my soul.
I am no longer a member of your colonial servitude,
and you are an inept fossil long past its prime.
From this moment, Narcissistic Neanderthal,
I am free.
Annotated Achilles amends fallen frame amputees
Bulimic Barbies browse media monkey banalities
Cameo clouds cling to beaded breath curios
Dopamine dreams delineate check cash desires
Echo endophfins eulogize bullet brain excrement
Fecal folly fantasies reveal relevant frivolities
Gonadal grownups gulp secret scrotal generosities
Helical hemorrhoids hinder senior stricken hemocraps
Idiotic ideals idioiosyncrate postpartum iconoclasts
Jack Jill juxtapositories seek sexestential jouveniers
Kryptic killer kisses ascot arrogant kingdumbs
Liquid lipid loiners fear frontline lucklullibies
Malevolent mommies masterbate rich reflective mommocules
Nevertheless nightingales nourish ruby rich noonbeams
Ovulatory occults outsource torrent tofu outrages
Pensive pisces picnics lovelorny passions
***** quiet quintensials release rancid quotients
Rape ripe residuals nullify nimble repercussions
Silky seafoam silhouettes fornicate frothy sandlets
Tepid torch trilogies belie belligerent tourniquets
Useless utterances utilize organize orgasmic utopias
Venomous vixens violate cruel.com visions
White willow wombs softly seed hospice hell winds
XX XY xfactors envision extracurricular xraydoms
Yearning yoyo yesterdays calculate clearcovert yields
Zen zealous zions mirror magnify Zoneotones
Self, behind the glass, seldom seen in shafts of sun
pondering life’s banalities, as from its gifts, you run.
On a warm, dew-weakened day,
Watching the grey void of a lost
Sense, anxious moments recline
On whiffs of ancestral propitiations
When rafters regain possession of
Filched roast fish, balanced with
The fumes of a wild dance heckled
By chokes of a chagrined weekend.
Who rises faster than smokes of a
Low tar, ascending
Gently,
Whimsically,
Lazily,
With rings of white life
Extinguished through banalities,
Through clamoured waste? . . .
Such rise — gay, sensuous rise
Of the thin beam,
Goes with every thread of meaning
Long since posted on the banner of
Meaningful dreams.
Anna Karenina, by Leo Tolstoy,
approximately 800 redundant pages
of Kafkaesque scoffing
at relentless banalities of economic and political elitists.
Rather like transcribing often inebriated conversations
within all-night insider celebrations
of a ProPlutocracy Party Convention
Or, sadly, a depressed weed-rant
at the end of a long defensive policy debate
among inter-religiously woke Democrats
longing for a win/win DanceParty Convention,
like in the good-old liberally bipartisan ballroom days
Only maybe about 400 condensed
impacted pages shorter
with the remainder quite unliterally
and anti-climatically inscrutable
as planned anti-ecological obsolescence
through mutually partisan assured destruction
Drinking and smoking
through organic Earth's rabidly dark night
denying and/or distracted
from synergetically addressing
our unwell-disorganizing Anthropocene
of epically AnthroNarcissistic
autocratic-monopolistic chaos
Adding nothing more useful
or healthy
or sacred
to Kafkaesque scoffing
at relentlessly drunk banalities
of economic and political elitists.
My dearest Cordelia: I scribe this letter now to you from domestic port, the embrace of our farewell still entrenched deeply in my mind. The morn is now upon the tranquil bay and the fishing trawlers have left their docks and marinas to seek bounty of Neptune’s great waters. I can see their outlines before the brilliance of the young days sun some distance away. Its light reflects a white sheen off the oceans body with the appearance of alabaster mosaic pieces on liquid sapphire. The bustle of the coastal city is already in full steam and the crowds of people move through the streets and algid morning air like the current of a river, every man and woman a drop with its own destination.
All of these things commonly taken for granted or a brief inconvenience in the banalities of everyday life; all of these things I feel I will grow to appreciate exponentially in the coming months. It has been decided that our nation will go to war, this I am certain is not anew parcel of information to you as the papers, zeitgeist and the common declamation of all mouths has all been of patriotism and glory for our nation. But I remain silent amongst all this noise and distraction because the thoughts I host are not of glory or heroism but of you; and one question. How chilling is time to old men the pilot the helms of this world’s great nations that it could make the disposal of a generation of young men’s lives or the prevention of the efficacy of our love a simple edict on a paper?
But fear not Cordelia not for me or our love for even though I am soon to be cast into the battle between the two chimeras of this world’s mightiest nations. There is nothing that will stop me from reaching our nations shores once again and with you building the bower in which the family we have dreamed of will grow and blossom. When I have won the war with this perilous world and all its unfair edicts Cordelia I will have your hand.
Yours forever John
"Laid Upon Their Alters"
qhapaq hucha
it begins at birth
the most precious
resource of all
we are registered,
audited, one by one
under the rod measured
by lizard rule
the capacocha
children of complacency
dumbed down, some
thorns, uppity, removed
heads counted
to be held high
as trophies, those played
and won
for the greater good
oh yes,
we belong;
we belong,
we’ve always belonged,
to the ruling class
sapa inca
orders sacrifice, daily
all are held up to the Sun
of the others’ huacas,
accountable,
we are ears of corn
sheared and scattered
kurnels sown to replenish
a new world
fresh crops
laid upon
their oily alters
falls the empires
one by one
like conquistadors
they dissolve us
holy sees parted
red and bleeding
we are all children
well drugged
foreplay for prophecies
all war rooms
cleanly wiped
disinfected, by fire
baptised deja vu
submerged
together
we are something else
to behold
realm of the four parts
these final moments
matter
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“With their royalty and focus of worship destroyed,
the general population readily accepted Spanish rule
as “what was done.” This created local assistance which,
along with outside factors, allowed the Spanish
to completely conquer the region by 1572,
marking the end of the Inca Empire.“
“This pattern of manipulating a people’s concept
of ideological power, in conjunction with
relational and material power,
is seen throughout history
and is often a large component
of the fall of great empires.”
"That’s why the banalities matter.
When the real issues come up, healthy states,
the ones capable of handling and minimizing
everyday dysfunction, have a great deal more capacity
to respond than those happily waltzing toward their end.
But by the time the obvious, glaring crisis arrives
and the true scale of the problem becomes clear, it’s far too late.
The disaster—a major crisis of political legitimacy, a pandemic,
a climate catastrophe—doesn’t so much break the system
as show just how broken the system already was."
There was nothing special about her,
She was just a girl;
Average at the naked eye.
Not too pretty,
Not ugly either.
Just a girl.
Nothing really standing out about her.
Nothing except her eyes.
They weren’t any special,
Beautiful,
Kind of color.
Except,
For those very few who knew how to look,
And what to look for.
Beneath that seemingly careless gaze,
That happy glow,
That glaze covering them;
There was so much more.
Some could see the pain,
Some would see the sorrow,
The weight of her poor decisions,
The fear of being forgotten,
Of leaving this world of ours untouched.
Some say they could even see the lives she’d lived,
And the many more to come after this one as well.
Some could see the many lives she lived right now,
The ever-changing qualities and virtues,
The constant reinvention in search of redemption.
Redemption of sins she didn’t even truly believe in.
A vague grasp to rid herself of all of that emptiness,
All of the void she kept filling with banalities,
Which of course,
Were never enough.
Her eyes screamed a cry for help,
A cry for understanding,
A cry for nurture.
A cry those who were able to read her eyes,
Ironically could never hear.
The pain was so,
The constant disappointment of letting them in,
Having them see past the vague lies her eyes told,
And not only not alleviate anything,
But most times made it many times worse;
That she decided to shut them.
Shut her eyes,
Those windows to a broken soul.
Shut them for good.
“Keep your gaze down”, She told herself, “They can’t hurt you anymore.”
13.08.07
What I seek from you can not be found,
Its an overbooked story with an aim too high,
A dream too hopeful to overcome your lie,
Written in tears meant to salt the ground.
Would be better to un-leave the thought,
In a drawer of old combs and paperclips,
To let banalities speak instead of lips,
Or would that be to quit love on the spot?
Indeed there’s a place so far away inside me,
Its energy bears no visible ripples,
Yet by magic it wills the force of every pulse,
Which blazes the world I want to see
If an ideal is something to lunge for,
Then reality is the teacher who scores your mark,
When virtue’s eye has a shadow in the dark,
It’s time to pack your bags and say no more.
Still, there are hold out reasons to keep it going,
We can center this thing if we believe enough,
The world needs a steer man to clear the bluff,
When alone don’t look, just keep busy rowing.
Should I practice giving up on subtleties?
For surely the difference it makes to embrace
A dream worth dying for and just being another place,
Is the canyon between comfort and what God sees.
The wolves of my imagination are philosophers,
Their oath of silence an oasis of faith,
In meaning beyond their sturdy race,
Woodnotes composed, a hymn to see the dangers.
I marvel at what I believed in yesterday,
Yet more marvelous be it to outlast,
The countless burdens from the past,
Whose evidence, faithfully, I refuse to inveigh.
She the alpha to he the loyal male,
Through the snow with grace does glowing go,
Twice the price to pave for a mate in tow,
Priceless is the light love does entail.
A source of anguish is the unsettling distance,
Between the what my daily breath reaches for,
And the cold your eyes do hold in store,
Resilience, my friend, my nightly utterance.
What I seek from you only I can make,
I stand to myself as one to one does multiply,
For only I can choose to pain reply,
By the choice of dignity and dignity’s wake.
Descending war pile on my threadbare past or
I’m losing my grace, for the puzzle’s not solved or
My gallant blessing is never done working or
My ideas are like heaviness across blinding sky or
My oasis splashes upon the canvas of wall or
My sunny angels tangle out a single smile or
The disturbance prevails the numbness of my existence or
I’m screaming, trying to build the confidence and
I felt like blooming in pleasing joy
I felt confident again…
I felt as if I belonged for only a few hours of my life…
I felt I was being held and fed with love
I felt as if I had a chance, but not in this world
I felt I was a stranger handling faith
I felt like I’ve changed—in a good way
You feel stuck in place
You’re silent, tearing down the hesitation and
The serenity fails the sensation of your extinction and
Your rainy demons unravel in multiple frowns and
Your desert dries out the imageless liberty and
Your banalities are like weightlessness around visible earth and
Your cowardly curse is always resting and
Your gaining your disgrace, for the riddles are solved and
Ascending peace unload off your renewed future or
You feel like wilting in displeasing sadness
You feel unsure for once
You feel as if you are isolated always forever in death…
You feel you were dropped and starved with hate
You feel as if you had a chance, in this world
You feel like you’re a friend juggling doubt
You feel like your constant—in a bad way
I felt free in space
(a poem my sister and I created)
Paired, With Reservations
The soft curve of her spirit-
Her true shape only emergent after countless
Half-glances in the half-light of morning’s edge.
What line is drawn by the knife-edge of the sun’s first rays?
Who is slain in that prime, resplendent arrival?
Regardless it is a shiny death: an incidental manslaughter
Making new cuts and reshaping the structure of our shared constitution:
Reforming the meaning of our togetherness.
Her form, her movement, creates contrast.
Motion is wonder’s conciliator, unearthing profundities and
Burying banalities under underfoot miles and myriad beads of perspiration;
Forging ahead together through the nascent day. To what end?
Running lines: some arbitrary and intangible, others geometrically
Pronounced in yellow and white, dotted and solid, faded and new.
Drawing new lines: making demarcations- parameters implicitly set-
So close yet never intersecting: paired, with reservations.
An Afternoon Interlude.
It is a quiet afternoon, with the quiet burr of a furiously rotating overhead fan...
This office is empty, fellow workers are all off their posts for their lunch...
There is a bright glare from the sunlight outside, and oppresive heat threatens...
It is another very hot day, the scorching sun heating up every air atom..
To dull the monotony of the office atmosphere whilst in this overbearing heat...
I quickly snatch a quick browse through this poetry site, there is much to read..
Energised and rightly inspired , I hasten to draft some timely lines of prose..
For spontaneity is cause for haste, lest creative lines are withered like a rose...
In the quiet of this deserted office, my little taps on the keyboard is loud indeed...
The endless whir of the overhead fan is a musical score to the words I seek...
My time is short, it does not bode well if I am caught dealing in some banalities..
After all, this is an office, not some cozy private cubicle to do as I please...
So I have to be brief, I cannot be too picky with words to post this short interlude..
After all, as I have set my mind to it, it is best I do what I had set out to do..
So thank you and sincere gratitude to all readers, and fans if there are any...
This is merely a short office interlude, a writing to maintain my productivity...
A hippopotamus in a tree is never the same as a forty foot sunbathing prawn with sunglasses. For in the eyes of the cool breeze not all can be delivered as speedily as a fish and chip tea on a promenade. So when skipping in leaves speak to the beetles nestled within. No fur coats necessary for such tough outer exteriors. And when feet are immersed in sand take time to consider the milestones made by the several hundred thousand years of eras and fauna and tides who shape the land akin to spreading thick amounts of cream on a homemade bun. But when in wind, now this is the time. The time to fly the inner kite. Mind residue can often flap so perhaps by placing a raisin in a currant one can escape the glows of yesteryear demise,junk,felons and demonstrated demonic plagues. However never let it be said that a clapping pan can dance to the spoon beats. And always be aware a tiny 6inch snail can travel at great speeds in the morning dew or in the dust explosions. Tapered. Tailoring. Trapping. Taking. An hourglass undercut. Cute. Cat. Fishing a five foot wave. Undergrowth underwent until ultimately uprooting. Pointless planning pain pun eyed people swarm. Delivery optional yet opened and arrived in a time looping hop of 1 2 3 beat. Hindsight hinders. Jalapeno skirts on lobster faced girls dance a pretty dance to a large goggle eyed clam. Balloons. Balls. Bake. Banal. Banalities of banana bread. Stallion toss. Geraniums. Xx1 !
Remember this poets, drink wine,
It is not talent that is important,
It is to have heart, drink wine,
Offer a drink to a friend or student
Make your friends, young and new, cry
Speaking of the primroses you offer,
Speaking of the water lilies in a famous museum,
Tearing all your uncertain poems,
See, this poem has little interest, let’s drink wine instead,
It is made of banalities without emotions, jewels thrown,
What I forgot when I wrote is to address you,
To have heart, to tell you of my loves,
Remember this poets, drink wine, admire your mother
Those who speak to you, hold you captive,
It takes a great silence virgin, the friendship of Mark Aurel
That the soul may walk in the snow,
Alone. Come with me. Come with me.
Drink wine. *
* with moderation and humour
Trump
A week is a long time in politics it also a long time in an old man`s life
who knows it can end when he sleeps; I say that and think of suicide
watching the entertainment on Portuguese TV the utter banalities makes me
shake uncontrolled fall to the floor until she switches off the telly.
Ok I admit to being over the top, she have been away for a week with
TV off most of the time except when watching the news on Franc 24 and
counting their lies and the omissions I take a grim pleasure watching
the new reader speaking his lines not listening to what he is saying like
a human robot and now we have got Trump he is theatrical ok mind,
he only do one-dimensional figure and is unable to be someone else
as his ego is big as Mount Everest like it or not he is the best president ever.
Democrats are stunned they are used to the hypocrisy of politicians it
has become a norm …and now this vulgarian is in power, tells his truth
as he sees it some agree, he promised the working class people
EMPLOYMENT.
For the time being, we believe, the day will come when the smug liberals
string him up below the statue of Abe Lincoln