Best Fatigue Poems
Exhaustion drips its weary head
Shrouding me with desolate apparel
A forlorn wardrobe of melancholy blues
Colors of emotional peril.
Indifference holds my body still
Unconcerned with the cold
Distant journeys in my thoughts
Apathy strong in its hold.
Nonchalance a steady companion
Detaching me from reality
Unaroused by what’s in front of me
I’ve lost all sense of vitality.
Inattention stands unyielding
Unwilling to make way for diligence
Insensitivity plants a seed
Growing strong in its militance.
Numbness gnaws away at my spirit
Paralyzed from its greed
Dulled by life’s anesthesia
I lack the passion to be freed.
End of a working day sees nightfall bludgeon me.
On the tenth day of Christmas,
my true love gave to me;
one dose of Covid,
breathless and restless,
tire and fatigue,
loose bowels and sickness,
sore throat and acne,
phlegm, cough and sneezes,
acute loss of smell,
aches and pains,
cycling high fever,
and a lung full of pure misery.
It is an unfortunate reality,
Those most able to tie word and misery -
Are most often the least spoken.
They are capable of divining the self,
Pulling out streams of emotion.
- Emotion that is far heavier than simple tears.
The words pull at their friends' heartstrings,
Puppeteering their empathy,
Taking all the warmth that they had too.
That's the curse of an ailed writer,
only knowing ink and page -
because paper doesn't cry.
Fatigue rests in the foggy recesses
Mindful of the deprivation
Of the door about to close
Before the eyes wide shut
That lingers below the lids of madness
Waiting to shout at sleep that
Yells at processes of thought soaked havoc
Assumption begot,
that cumulative generations
bred tiredness weariness zap
ping ability to remain awake,
nope even enough energy
to feign opening maw mouth
evincing a yap,
and if equipped
with smartphone app viz whatsapp
would shear lee ask ewe
if Androids dream of electric sheep,
but limited options,
asper talking via two lipped gap
reduce modes to communicate
keeping shut tight denture
"FAKE" toothed trap
affixed to gums by (James) bonding agent
necessitating manual finagling -
careful NOT to snap
dentures, thus
leaving garbled speaking
where gum shunned rattletrap
disallowing articulation,
enunciation and pronunciation,
making worthy words
sound like discombobulated pap
hoping to convey tiredness affliction,
sans this poe whim, whereby i map
imagining yielding curling (catlike)
upon ample sized maternal lap
whether gentile,
or Jewish princess i.e. Jap
pan knees, which above
quasi Semitic iteration hap
puns tubby what occurred to me
for no particular rhyme or reason
hoping ya ponied mental effort
to breeze thru my sad dulled verse
with neigh saying horsesense to giddyap
whereupon woebegone
sleepiness could perk me up -
if ye could purchase far me a large frap
pa chin oh otherwise
fate twill point this chap
to Google search how to buck up vitality
vis a visa deer lee sought app.
Compassion Fatigue
Resentment looks a lot like Narcan in a sharp
and feels like it’s forcing out my will.
I grab them both; Naloxone and the tarp,
the outcome undetermined by my skill.
Same guy, same place, same drug; third time today,
his unresponsive body cold to touch.
Compassion has fatigued and crawled away,
when I see something tiny in his clutch;
A crucifix, a cross is glinting gold.
Immediate withdrawal floods through his veins;
I’ve plunged the needle, and I tightly hold;
his bloodied eyes snap alive with pain
despite the death wish of his toxic dope,
a Savior finds him worthy of His hope.
Chemo War 2 (some months ago)
So many months of toxic love? and radiation,
meds, destroying disfigured foes
collaterial danage as useful cells die
and badly burnt in chemical
and radiant heat, I am drained and pale
my hair thinned, my skin red and raw
this is the final fight, the battles’ at an end,
the last scars formed, last viens pricked
tap tap tapping of the MRI with me alone
life seems now too heavy a chore
You know, there is no fatigue yet,
At least the whiskey was silvered.
Lo and behold, the age is just a shock,
And it turned my head terribly.
I'm not tired, not at all!
Where does age come from here?
But time suddenly flies faster,
And the years begin to round off quickly.
And I feel the strength of the old tide,
But tomorrow it will be different.
Life is not for those who are very cowardly,
And it's not about luck.
But I'm not tired, not at all!
Don't expect me to give up without a fight!
I will win back many more years,
And I will not let time flow in vain!
To make a bed, you must tighten your hold,
Tuck in the corners and tend to the fold,
Smooth out the blankets and straighten the line.
Like a geisha serving up two cups of wine,
She may promise her laughter is free,
But what’s in it for me?
To find the truth, you should look toward the light;
Make a solemn intention to practice what’s right.
If the lady’s a mystic, you must understand,
She’s out on the prowl for a gullible man.
She'll take a tarot crystal yoga point of view,
But what’s in it for you?
To find my way, I just opened my eyes,
Tossed back the covers, dismissed the disguise.
Gold diggers dangle their fishnet allure,
And sirens do carnival tricks down the shore.
There may be seven wonders left to see,
But what’s in it for me?
To break a bed, you just lighten the load,
Turn down the covers and take up the road.
If sincerity danced on the head of a pin,
There’d be many times more than what she had within.
Compassion fatigue was her balm for my PTSD.
What was in it for me?
What was ever in it for me?
She held my hand till the money ran out.
Then she did.
I am your shoulder
I am your comfortable shoulder
Your pillow to rest you’re head on
Yes, ooh yes, come to rest
You are welcome to cry
You are welcome to sneeze
You are welcome to let go
You are not crazy
Surrender your exhaustion off
Let the fatigue disappeared
Refresh up, your earn it
I am your shoulder, your comforter.
The demons of slumber
awaken a hunger
for the resting of my soul
sweet night has come
with the days work done
now my body pays the toll
The orders come in, as does the stress,
sometimes the phone still rings off the hook,
They give us a quota every day
and the boss man will come by and look.
I feel my heart-rate staring to rise,
and I can’t wait until Saturday,
I’ll drive out to a far, green country,
and then all of this will fall away.
The weeks keep going, one like the next,
my mind just subsumes to the routine,
between sales and calls the turnover
here is just remarkably obscene.
But I’ve got two week’s vacation soon,
if I make it that long, who can say,
but I’ll fly to a far, green country,
where I’ll let all of this fall away.
They say we all must have a career,
that those who will not work will not eat,
so few of us find a job we love,
and the drudgery leaves a man beat.
But some day I’ll have the money to
retire and build a country place,
then I’ll move to a far, green country,
and let all of these years fall away.
Thought it often seems very unfair
that I’ll be old when this comes around,
not fit to tromp along the back trails,
too cribbed to explore the wooded grounds.
That something better will come after
is the reason I still bow and pray,
so I’ll go to a far, green county,
where the veil of tears will far all away,
and a shepherd will show me the way.
I just flew in from Germany
and my arms are tired and weary.
Junior league
Army fatique
Build a store
Go to war
Make a collection
Get an infection
Put on airs
In cross hairs
Safe and sound
Boots on the ground
Price some clothes
Urine glows
Comfort zone
Combat zone
Get a bank loan
Airplane flown
Junior League
Army fatigue
Build a store
Go to war