Best Dissatisfaction Poems
Becoming a slave to my own paradise,
Becoming clingy to my own disregarded appetites,
Becoming a prisoner of my own created prison,
Becoming lonesome in my own crowd.
Recognising something lethal,
Pouring out something eternal,
Bearing some dirt of civilisation,
Tearing apart the burden of my own existence.
I've created my own traps,
Living forever in my own satire.
No appeal on the docket today;
I crave the unseens.
When the sins are unseen,
What verdicts can there be?
When the prisoner is the judge,
Is he called a metaphor of his own book?
So I've hold my head up high—
Hiding hatred that burns inside.
Perhaps this is not the last;
Perhaps this is an endless circle.
Like in a dungeon we live,
Full of dissatisfaction and high charges of stuff
With no sign of reduction but expansion
As if we were victims of famine
In a famished land.
The rainbows of intercession speak not,
And the markets, missing their right positions;
In our little wages we battle with the economy
But it seems it's overcoming us
Starve! Starve!! Starve!!!
We the people starve.
Our entrusted statesmen speak in silence;
And the self-absorbed merchants’ tradeoff
Harbours gossips in towns,
Leaders not knowing their fiats would fix some aspects.
Sometimes, we reason if for any cause to choose,
Or are there not scrupulous folks in the bar to judge?
Where are the representatives in parliament?
Because we are hungry and weary!
It has drowned us in the sea devoid of hope and confidence to live
For we are afraid to face the fate.
Starve! Starve!! Starve!!!
We the people starve.
O yes, we cry for a transformation
So that we can dance as a happy generation.
The economy has become tougher,
That if a head earns a thing— to feed his parts—
It'll be of no satisfaction.
Insomuch that this is happening, we are left with no good:
But some are seduced to unlawful acts;
While some are yet willing to chide till eternity.
If ethics drive into our predicament,
We shouldn't be starved.
Our need then calls for an earthly saviour
Who could buy us redemption
For we starve.
Starve! Starve!! Starve!!!
We the people starve.
Clouds spiral down and curl around to touch me
—not those western drizzle shrouds
baring a soul of misery mizzle
...though I adore a good wallow in sorrow —no
these clouds come from yonder bluebird wilds
white cirrus wispy and whispery dance around me
I steal one to wear across my shoulders
like a platinum’s blonde’s faux stole
they come to me like papier-mâché angels —no no
that’s too cliché… and passé for I’m far beyond
the Godly touch of angels… hmm.. they come to me
like a lover —no too easy …like a heartbreak-er lover!
yah I’ll go with that and get a taboo tattoo of his name
anyway the clouds they find me where I stand
dissatisfied with being satisfied
the result of my cool cat face seduction
I wear a crimson bee balm boutonniere
display it on my plunging V lapel but
it attracts wasps instead of honey bees; I find
danger brings a secret pleasure to my displeasure
my leopard print pants (red sky colored)
stirs sir knight with his bridled gaze and walking stick
he watches my next move on the chessboard
tries to guess my breezy strategy
my hands behind my head legs crossed
maybe it’s a white crested ocean I'm floating on
—or wrestling with— either way
I’m here to play and paint a displeased scene
watercolors? they’re just transparent hues
applied to my white background
depending on the mood of my mood ring —but
when acrylics bleed it’s harder to see the scene
colors escape their space creating a slurry
of what is where where is when when is why
and why don’t know why ..what?! but I know how
blurry lines take on a life of their own
and shapes a new fate from ‘no gesso’ mistakes
I could switch my style to snarly tiger stripes today
and gladly take that horse-headed knight down
that wooden old guard has new orders
he’s suspicious of me scrutinizes me
but only half as much as I’m used to
his right hand on his monocle
—the other eye blind
just beyond the reach of his walking stick
I free my torso of its purple grapevine corset
uncinching my fake waisted form —I muse
if my time as a wastrel was wasted or invested
oh …the monocle is telescoping me again
I shimmy lose my butterfly wings
slap him as I flap them and fly away
it’s hard to know if I’m still beautiful
or if I’m just broken
—either way I embrace the rainy side of the rainbow
happily discontent
haiku/dissatisfaction
© RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY
15 November 2014
put on your trousers
i do not like snails in bed
they are kerb-crawlers
The voice of the flowers flowed along the greenery in the dell.
One who heard their whispers was a pixie named young Nell.
She understood their excitement, but the words she could not tell.
For some secrets are best kept away from the fey, even in the dell.
The leopard, jaguar, puma and lion had their own queen.
Lynx wanted one too; one with shine, sparkle and sheen.
The granter of queens told him he could have one in frost.
He gave him an ice queen. Her name was Mad Grost.
But she is cold and mean, lynx argued to the granter of wishes.
She is what she is, she will come around slowly like the fishes.
Lynx was unhappy as was Mad Grost, who did not like Lynx.
She said to the granter, why don’t you turn that little cur into a spinx?
Hello again
nagging dissatisfaction
diminish me again
corrupt everything
with your whispers of truth.
John the apostle spoke such wisdom
when warning and exhorting us all
to love not the world
for it makes you spiritually stall
The world is one large idol
filled with little idols so tempting
which none of it will satisfy
leaving you feeling its sting
Only God himself can satisfy
loving Christ and Him alone
giving yourself fully to His Lordship
obeying the one who's your chief cornerstone
Remember this world is passing away
one day it will be no more
if you love this worldly place
only divine wrath will be in store
So take heed of the Apostle's word
be sure to have only a single love
not for this world and all within
but to God and His home above
AUTHOR NOTES: Love Not The World (1 John 2:15)
Hello, Dear, I trust the garbage in the road was picked up on Friday.
To add insult to the sweetness,
“I think it amusing there is a no dumping sign” across from where they have dumped.
Yes, I too think it bitterly amusing, since this pile from hell is about
Six feet from my driveway, which is so lovely when guests come.
This sweet letter was from the mayor’s assistant.
Because out of desperation, I wrote to him last Wednesday.
I wrote an equally nice letter back.
Hello back, Dear.
Not only was nothing picked up on Friday,
More was added to the pile on Friday.
I came around the corner to discover six tires,
A couch, and a burned out car that were not there on Thursday.
I plan to call the news station today,
For it is apparent even the mayor’s office
Can get nothing done.
Have a nice day yourself!
Love and all that stuff.
what realms
scream beyond our satisfaction?
what truths
do we pretend to hold?
what pride
is it that we say we walk with,
just outside the next store where
we sell our “souls”?
what face
is that which we refuse to look
at,
when forced into the mirror
reflect?
what conversation
might we have with ourselves, to
convince that we are worthy of
respect?
no one gets all that they want
when life so short will not reveal
that nothing offered’s good enough
if dissatisfaction is the only thing
that’s real.
Have you ever up and just leave
After looking at the dull menu?
Doesn't like my cooking or my conversating
Dislikes my company, my look, my smell
So devastating
My opinion is rejected, my heart is neglected
My hurt is of no consequence
I don't rate, just feel your hate
My needs have no significance
Everybody else takes priority
Random strangers have superiority
I'm so f#@$*%g mad it simply makes me sad
Don't want to feel me, hear me or be touched
My deepest longings must be crushed
I can't help but wonder WHY?
Why am I here? What do you want?
Blind obedience!?
I feel like your punching bag
Constantly ignoring red flags
Squash my discontent to make you happy.
But I fail
It's never enough
Can't help but feel like I am pointless
It’s an issue when I say something,
but also when I don’t.
There’s a problem with when I eat,
but also when I don’t.
Someone always has something to say,
or looks to throw.
No-one looks at what they do,
just at what everyone else does.
When I am dissatisfied with someone or something
I look within and know I am really dissatisfied with me.
I need a new hobby, a new friend, a new job, a new something
So I begin to go to work
One day when I was dissatisfied I thought “What about poetry?”
I had written a poem six or seven years before.
One poem. Not two, just one.
I have no idea why I stopped there.
So I found a poetry site and I began to write poems.
Now when I look back at those first “poems” I laugh.
They were not poems at all, but really short stories.
The commenters were generous and kind to me though.
Now I have over seven thousand poems, and I love writing poetry.
All because I was dissatisfied on a Thursday during parent-teacher conference
When I had nothing to do for eight hours, because….
No one wants to see the counselor. No one.
Dissatisfaction
IZZ
The Mother-Trucker
UV
Invent:
SHUN!
-Gray Squirrel
10-29-2024