Best Meaninglessly Poems
© Charles H Keys, 2011. All Rights Reserved
Talking anxiously to myself,
Thoughts fresh of the new,
Some deliberate, others not,
Thoughts old and forgotten,
Mostly familiar or so it appears.
Still wondering why
Am I here? Or maybe not.
Is not the grass still green?
And the snow ... white and cold,
Where is this said?
What awaits me down the road?
Empty fascinations with token vague memories of yore
... lost,
Maybe forever, so meaninglessly insignificant
Here am I for what?
There has to be God or
Why else can I be,
If not to taste fresh air
To soar as an eagle - free, unattached into wherever,
Alone, asphyxiated from man-made constraints.
The aroma of fresh baked bread,
Life awakened life to be lived
The beauty of it all, so green and blue
Warm and cool sunned by our creator
Life lived inside and out.
I thirst for inner quiescence,
Beyond the realm of the mundane and the lost,
Far from the useless and
... the hurt from the heartless, of so many so often,
A universe of everything that is ... in harmony.
A Pauper I am, a Prince I am not, tethered,
Mesmerized in the day-to-day nothingness,
Unsatisfied with the uneventful
I am here, pleading for answers
Of life’s painful purposeful ignorance of each other.
Sisyphus wished to overcome the death,
This the gods did never like, the myth says;
It's hence they decided to take his breath,
In ways other than the very death plays.
They gave him a big boulder, the myth reads,
To carry it from the foot of a hill;
To its top and when reaching there he needs,
To drop it down and thus continue still.
Courageous, king Sisyphus went ahead,
And took charge of the huge molded boulder;
It was as heavy as a rock of dread,
Yet to it he boldly rubbed his shoulder.
Though this task was meaninglessly absurd,
Sisyphus performed it faithfully true;
This punishment was a concept so blurred,
He carried it on life's greatness to prove.
Feared by the penance of absurd labor,
Sisyphus did not wish to end his life;
He turned the task to fit in his favor,
Accomplished it amidst terrible strife.
He had his great relaxation just then,
While returning to the foot after drop;
This gave him great courage and strength again,
Each time to reach the rock to the hilltop.
The myth of Sisyphus tells me the truth:
Rebellion in life is essential too;
When the old paths are not soothingly smooth,
Paving new is an obligation true.
23 June 2021
Beyond
These trivial pursuits
The day looms long,
Largely unused, unplanned,
Promising unimportant
Activities.
Anticipating alternatives,
Inertly I idle,
Mind meandering meaninglessly,
Mildly morose,
Diffident, diffuse,
And aimless.
You are beautiful,
The old men find you irresistible.
The men, well dressed,
Leg crossed,
Sitting in their shops,
Whistling as you take stops.
You catwalk,
The *****cat never again walk.
Guys watching, your hips twisting,
East to west.
Who will woo you first?
I adore you,
But give me all fortunes, I will refuse you.
Painting hands and lips are your morning duty,
Abuse words only you know, yet you claim beauty.
You are so caring,
Little needs of your youngers are frustrating.
You detest men with leg-edes-benz,
And even toy with those with mercedes-benz,
Robbing them mercilessly.
Making men meditate meaninglessly.
As the clock ticks,
So, does the page of the day flicks.
People are not getting younger,
Everyone and so should you have got wiser.
Be respectful and obedient.
Love your man and learn to be patient.
Be caring in all situation,
And never give your man examination.
Behaviour, if you ask me
Is beauty, beautiful bride-to-be.
most are unusual some mundane ~ one logs in mostly to complain
most are encompassing some refrain ~ one writes rebukes sounding insane
most are sophisticated some quite plain ~ one adds nothing just distain
most are original some entertain ~ one seeds hatred, sounds in pain
most are orthodox some arcane ~ one solipsist rules their lone domain
most like contests some avoid fame ~ one says they’re meaninglessly inane
most are devout some go against the grain ~ one or two faves, all a game
By David Kavanagh
In no time, seconds tick to minutes and minutes hasten to hours
Hours run full speed to days, days grow wings and fly to become weeks
Then months, years, decades….
Like a flash, all this like a flash, life is too short
Because life is too short,
Maximizing pleasure is for them no fault
Like one possessed, so the girl dances the night away
But her morning turns bitter, realizing she has gone faraway
And the devoted family man falls for it too ‘cause life is too short
For the sweet and the pleasant he craves,
So he steals the waters, and the bread in secret he breaks
But alas, to a piece of bread he is brought by his stolen waters
The church woman as well, and her feet, abide not in her house, for life is too short
“Come let’s take our fill of love till morning, for the good man has gone a long journey”
Like the adulteress spoken of by King Solomon, with her cage
She whispers to her latest catch, her last offspring’s age
Child, you’re wrong and that’s not the meaning, so hear
Not in your narrow interpretation life is surely too short, dear
Life is so short that you maximize enjoyment?
Child, you’re wrong and that’s not the meaning, so hear
Man, damn right life is too short; too narrow is your understanding
To share have I what really meanest it, so your attention please give me
I swear you will get it not even when you lend me both your ears
But your virgin mind too bring it along, so you appreciate what exactly meanest “life is too short”
Because life is too short,
The Heavenly Father wants to be your Lord
By His providence and His providence alone the King requires you in His fold
For life is too short, out of you your Creator wants to get the most with no fault
Woman, in His paths of light He wants to guide your weak feet
Before He takes from you His breath
‘Cause He knows life is too short to be lived meaninglessly, so precious is every minute He is to give
And independent of Him He doesn’t want you to live
Life is too short, dear
His perfect will on you is all He wants you to grasp clear
So that to His Kingdom you hugely contribute before His breath He takes away
For life is surely too short only in this way.
Occasionally I dream.
Black ominous spots in my closed eyes.
Dreams I never remember,
Dreams I don't want to remember.
For when I do I cringe with fear
Sit in a corner of my darkened room,
Trying unsuccessfully to forget.
Fitful recurring dreams,
That leaves the palate dry,
Devoid of savored zest,
Flat as unleavened bread.
Dark shadows in a dark room,
Swirling, gasping, mutely roaring,
Ugly, brusque, dyspeptic, and morose.
It gyrates meaninglessly in the void,
A menacing, unpleasant stench
That eventually dissolves into nothingness.
Dreams orchestrated to confuse,
Meant to gradually unhinge the mind.
So occasionally I dream.
The rest I am awake to face
The terrors of the night.
Note: I wrote this poem in 2003. never posted as far as I know. Sometimes I enjoy dark poems but they are FICTIONAL.
Self-perfidy ignites the story again
Contemptuously, I run to my patience's edge;
Strain it further, till I make the inner-burst.
Then, retreat callously, pricked by mundane-me.
Stuffing disgust, within air already replete with loathe
Growing old meaninglessly was never been so apparent.
Earthly cravings enshroud 'tomorrow-shines' Dreams
Habituated to condone the swerving: - hope-spikes almost dead.
I concoct excuses faster than getting tagged for manhandling promises
But sometimes, envying weeds, I realize how wasted I am.
Time seems insensitive to my pathetic pace, But I
Still cling to long-back-brewed self-expectations.
With just few hope shreds, I keep the faith candle lighted
These loaned hopes are too expensive to afford now.
Such a immense pain I feel
when i realize that I am not the sun
that illuminates your life ...
Distress even greater when perceive
that your moon has settled
on the darker side
that I don't notice ..
And that we were the same as
disconnected outcasts
floating meaninglessly,
wandering aimlessly,
lost from that love
athwart the spaces ...!
So meaninglessly mean with florescent gloss
A room in town with soft coughs and smiles
Stories are to told of condolences, loss
Its tubular chairs screech on polished tile
We waiting here to be cautiously revealed
Await the ordinary releasing whispering sighs
Await prescriptions of hope to be filled
Only the well wait without showing their eyes
I'd say, Oh let's go down to the stream in the forest
Let us all rest by Grimm's river deep
Where the detritus sweeps quickly before us
And rest may come and shade allow sleep
And if mortality should fail and sadly we depart
Strangers will say the sky cried its purest tears
They were one mind in a million beating hearts
But rivers thought endless, did soon disappear
While they danced, Frances
visualized her high school days.
She could hear
the 50s music
superimposed on the beats
she was hearing with her ears.
These days, they tell you where the rhythm is,
you don't have to feel it. As they danced,
bumping with the rhythm, they did not touch.
They exercised their own imaginations.
Everything is
programmed these days. They tell you
how to play and organize the moves.
They tell you how to learn and
what to learn and
threaten you with poverty
if you don't follow.
While they danced, time
bunched up at the end point.
The present moved much
slower than the past streamed in.
Her mind terminated the flow of the past
and there was a blockage that filled
the empty cells of memory.
As she moved, gesticulating
seemingly meaninglessly but not meaninglessly,
she carried a wealth in the heaviness of her.
We have to write about
reality, if we are going to write, not theory.
Theory is rarified
even if it's the most important thing.
We spend our few yearning,
hungry years here, with each other,
with our human furniture.
We don't have time
for explanation.
Paul couldn't resist.
He eventually reached out for the woman's hand
and pulled her close.
understanding lacks her mysteries
all in my head
what wonder asunder?
a complex calibration
with my ego.
all in jest!
but, is it really?
what is the nip in the bud?
my rose?
my cucumber?
my lavender?
finger to lip, I pause,
eyes meandering meaninglessly,
comprehending nothing, I
turn away.
Memory plays ‘hide-and-seek’.
Mind is a sorry seeker in this game.
A doctor prescribes to cure ‘the void’.
It’s a learned hypocrisy.
Words clash one another on Mrs.Pathu’s
tongue and fall down meaninglessly.
Infancy is reborn in the wet
shade of her Alzheimer’s.
Memory sets in her present
and rises in her past.
Intermittently falling beams
glare in her eyes.
She bobs up and down like the jetsam
on the waves.
Now, life announces
its retrieval in doleful tones.
beckoning a dream, without the repulsion of bodies best set
together. the same dancing decaying soul overwhelming itself
again. the perpetual act of destroying lucidity. watch as it
consumes me through her eyes... inferring an unreasonable
consciousness, screaming for calamity of a solitary heart!
even my reflection creeps with shadows... dining on my
diminishing hope and joy. watch as i self-destruct and
slide back into my hole.
feed my trepidation sorrow to keep the stress crawling. teach me
how to cry again... feignly, meaninglessly. burn my desire in the
forshadowing of my next great fall. illuminating in elegance singing
through my effigy... in the darkest visual hue. the shallow end
of the vein, in a vessal of withering self-assurance, wading
through afflictions carved by a woman's hand, bound to my tears.
listen to my stark elegiac songs, as i preach them one last
time. put your gun to my head so i dont reiterate yesterday.
the portent is growing today... annihilate rapturous illusions
behind my eyes.
Occasionally I dream.
Black ominous spots as my eyes close.
A dream I never remember,
A dream I don't want to remember.
For when I do I cringe with fear,
Sit in a corner of my darkened room,
Trying unsuccessfully to forget.
Fitful recurring dream,
That leaves the palate dry,
Devoid of savored zest,
Flat as unleavened bread.
Murky shadows in a dark room,
Swirling, gasping, mutely roaring,
Ugly, brusque, dyspeptic, and morose.
It gyrates meaninglessly in the void,
A menacing, unpleasant stench
That eventually dissolves into nothingness.
A dream orchestrated to confuse,
Meant to gradually unhinge the mind.
So fatigued, I sleep and dream.
The rest I am awake to face
The terrors of the night.
Surrounded by four impenetrable walls.