Best Discontented Poems
Why can't I play with shiny balls
And climb that Christmas Tree
Why bring a tree into the house
Then say it's not for me
Why can't I help with wrapping paper
I love to play with twine
Oh please, I only want to help
While you sit and sip your wine
I love to smell your kitchen odours
Turkey, pork and ham by the ton
That cooking drives me up the wall
But then I act the sneaky one
That's when you kick me out the door
You really spoil my fun, and that's for sure
don't hang with those who complain,
for their discontented stain
will blot your soul.
endless gripes can cause a frown
and make you feel very down,
with no control.
Dr. Ram's tail-rhyme contest
Another year has marched out of my life.
A crusading warrior making his way back home,
Leaving bloody battlefields in his wake.
Trampled valleys where dreams once stood.
In the beginning, the year tiptoed in,
Softly sprinkling crystallized wishes.
Ideas, floating like a fine dusting of snow,
Forming a light covering on my bed of anticipation.
In swept the Ides of Spring laden with promises.
Storms tossing my wants in a turbulent sea of needs.
I planted my seeds with the expectancy of progression,
Hoping to find nourishment for my battered soul.
Summer scorched a path through my life
Bringing passion and potential to my fertile soil
Growing, thriving, reaching for the budding of fulfillment
Hopes alive, green and fresh, standing tall against adversity.
Autumn flew in on the winds of a changeling,
Taking the abundance and leaving a barren field.
Stripped of optimism, I wander in the fields of despair,
Wondering where my footpath led me astray.
Yes wicked winter with your freezing rains.
You beat against me, leaving blisters in your wake.
But Spring will return, of this I am certain,
Bringing with it the possibilities of contentment.
Lost.
Lonely.
Full of pain.
He walked up to the church to pray for the first time in over twenty years.
The doors were locked.
When did we start locking church doors?
Confused.
Abandoned.
In need of help.
She entered the psychiatrist’s office seeking professional care.
She had no health insurance and was turned away.
The Hippocratic oath no longer applies.
Destitute.
Hungry.
No money for food.
He tried to donate a pint of his blood.
They no longer offer money in exchange.
The juice and cookie made an unsatisfactory meal.
The slow student sat in the back of the classroom unable to understand the lesson.
The teacher had thirty other students demanding her attention.
She was passed on to the next grade without an education.
He bought a gun at the local Sporting Goods Store in the only civilized country that makes
this so easy to do.
Seventeen random college students have their lives taken from them far too young because
he couldn’t cope with the pressures of an unfair world.
I kiss my six year old’s forehead as he lies, peacefully, sleeping in his bed under Spiderman
sheets, hopeful, that someday, he may make a difference.
Discontented
No happiness to the mind
Despite of a beautiful house
And, yet, desiring for another big palace;
No happiness to the mind
Despite of a good job and pay with status
And, yet, searching for a big job;
No happiness to the mind
Despite of wealth sufficient for generations
And, yet, longing to become a billionaire;
No happiness to the mind
Despite of an ideal and pretty wife
And, yet, hunting for another gorgeous lady;
No happiness to the mind
Despite of joy and peace
And, yet, craving for some more pleasure;
Fatigued in this fight for life
The mind’s still struggling
For more struggles for the life;
Now it’s the time for the life
To leave this world
And it’s a must for the mind to accept
But now it got the desire to live more with peace
Which it lost in its race;
But unfortunately it’s too late
The time’s over
The struggle’s ended!
R K Chowdary
25Mar2014
nobody contented by their aging
replies when asked “but i’m still young” &
nobody who asks has any reason
but to find out how long that they can still
****, how long they can still dash without
responsibility, how long it is that they
can dance without those crickety bones,
how long they have before they’re over
that hill & there ain’t no way to come back
now,
you know the song that gets sung &
you know the way the tune goes &
you know how the beat is made &
you know what happens when it’s over &
you know the tales that get told
bout’ all the things that you can do
to get to the other side of the road
without fessing up that you a chicken too &
chickens ****, so you got to admit
that you’re just as filthy as the rest of us &
chickens are stupid when they all chew the
same cigarette butt before tossing it as a
group, fight over one crumb rather than
see & search for those around them
(perceiving different ways to satisfy),
try & stuff more than one of themselves
into the nesting place without a second
thought & drop eggs into the deep mud
or even out the barn window, amidst other
trivialities---but what brings them all
together, what makes them all equal is that
eventually that farmer comes out with
the axe & takes each one of their little
heads, allowing them to run around
spurting & gushing before finally dropping
dead.
Could discontentment be a vice?
To be a farmer would suffice -
yet, born upon this earthly sphere,
a boy in County Lincolnshire
was left by farming, cold as ice.
Not content to sow and harvest grain,
He sought to understand and explain,
inventing calculus he showed
how nature's secrets he'd decode
with his unsated, searching brain.
As Newton revealed the laws of spheres
there followed other pioneers,
none of them quite satisfied,
as they were only gratified
by blazing new frontiers.
Dissatisfaction's contribution:
the Industrial Revolution -
happy changes - if there are finds
by newly discontented minds,
yielding a climate change solution.
Dustmen were dirty
Shoes had holes
Typewriters qwerty
Clothes were old
School was tough, kids were rough
Summers were always, quite cold
Three-day week
No power at night
Week after week another union strike
Nothing to do, so early to bed
Wake the next day to no loaves of bread
No central heating
Winters were freezing
No phone tweeting
Less coughing and sneezing
TV was great, watching films late
The Friday night Hammer, the best to see
British bulldog we played,
as gangs in the street
The shop round the corner,
had all the best sweets
And despite everything, when all’s said and done
The discontented decade was still lots of fun!