Best Monotony Poems
WORK SLEEP REPEAT
WORK SLEEP REPEAT
THE SAME OLD SORRY STORY
THE SAME MONOTONY
EVERY DAY THE SAME
NO FUN NO JOY NO CHANGE
ALL I WANT IS TO BE FREE
OF THIS DAMN MONOTONY
MY HEART HAS NO FULLFILLMENT
I'M JUST A HOLLOW SOUL
GOING THROUGH THE MOTIONS
AS I DIG MY SHALLOW HOLE.
I SMILE ON THE OUTSIDE
HIDE WHAT YOU CANNOT SEE
THAT INSIDE I AM SCREAMING
PLEASE END THIS MONOTONY
I WANT TO STOP THE CYCLE
I NEED TO LEARN TO TRY
TO FIX THE SITUATION
TEACH MY SOUL TO FLY.
IT'S TIME TO FIND THE COURAGE
TO UNDO THIS LOCK AND KEY
AND SOAR INTO THE UNKNOWN
LEAVE THIS MONOTONY
As a child I was “board” with Monopoly
Games dragged on endlessly, such monotony
Now I’ve noticed a fearsome monstrosity
Special interests creating atrocity
PACs are strangling the sentiments of Congress
Bailouts for bigwigs while people are jobless
To win votes, we hear many a false promise
After elected, leaders become pompous
Get out of jail free cards are passed readily
Eagerly sought by those who lie steadily
We try to make sense of this inequity
But “players” are laughing at our density
Yet I know monopolies when I see them
And all of this control I’m quick to condemn
The maddening click of key strokes
The shrilling of the phones
The crunch of crumbling paper balls
Slices to the bone
The dull humming of the copier
Four million paper clips
The smell of tacky wite out
So sick of all of it
It's like sitting in a coffin
This tomb with three gray walls
Choking on monotony
In a stifling, dreamless stall
I need to find the exit
Won't be like all of them
A dead eyed walking corporate corpse
Fake smiles, no brain stems
I know I need to hurry
Before they bury me away
And I become a pro quo victim
Soulless zombie for the pay
A breeze did slide in under eaves
and stirred inside the air that grieves,
my children grown my dreams have flown,
alone I sit my rocking throne.
My chair in front of window bare,
I look… but husband’s soul elsewhere.
Beneath my feet the floorboards moan,
alone I sit my rocking throne.
Each day I rock the same tic tock
and change not from my sleeping frock.
Once soft my face now turned a crone,
alone I sit my rocking throne.
The length of cobwebs measure time
they speak no secret sing no rhyme,
but air that’s stirred does tend to drone…
alone, I sit my rocking throne.
I pray to rock myself to sleep
as old-age-chains do rust with weep.
These tears from seeds of sorrows sown,
alone I sit my rocking throne.
The run of beads and crucifix
will not unfix life’s mix of tricks.
A rosary my rope and stone,
alone... I sit my rocking throne.
Of God I beg relief from grief,
unbind my mind from mortal sheaf.
This plea endures like sun bleached bone—
alone I sit my rocking throne.
Round and round goes the record
Playing the same old song
Stuck in the same place
No fast forward
No rewind
Just repeat...repeat...repeat
Round and round goes the record
Playing the same old song
Stuck in the same place
No fast forward
No rewind
Just repeat...repeat...repeat
Round and round goes the record
Playing the same old song
Stuck in the same place
No fast forward
No rewind
Just repeat...repeat...repeat
Round and round goes the record
Playing the same old song
Stuck in the same place
No fast forward
No rewind
Just repeat...repeat...repeat
Round and round goes the record
Playing the same old song
Stuck in the same place
No fast forward
No rewind
Just repeat...repeat...repeat
Round and round goes the record
Playing the same old song
Stuck in the same place
No fast forward
No rewind
Just repeat...repeat...repeat
I’m bored with life
Each week repeats its self
Into what seems to be
Eternity
Where’s the sense of adventure
I know what will happen
Each moment of each day
Then each week seems to fade away
I know the definition of insanity
To repeat the same thing over and over again
To expect different results
But I know it will always be the same
I'm not insane I'm just bored
With a monotonous life
But what is life if not monotonous
A continuous stream of 24 hour segments
It's my own face that I will see
when I look in the mirror
And when I put my glasses on
my vision is much clearer
If I walk out into the rain
I'll probably get wet
And if I wish to visit Rome
I'll have to board a jet
Life unfolds so obviously
seven days a week
There isn't much variety
of outcomes that I seek
For once I'd like to see a puppy
fly up through the air
to keep a rainbow in a jar
or bounce a ball that's square
To have a clock run in reverse
although it sounds far-flung
Each minute would precede the last
and we would all grow young
You surely think I've lost my mind
This logic is absurd
But why can't April fourth just once
be followed by the third?
The monotony of gravity
can really bring me down
That line was not for your amusement
I am not a clown
It's all so damn predictable
it makes me want to scream
I'm hoping that I'll just wake up
to find it's all a dream
But, until the sky is plaid
and east is left of west
I'll simply have to plod along
and give each day my best
11/5/19
No stories this time
No gimmicks, no music
This is the spawn of silence
This is the product of utter quiet
There is no one else in this persona
There is no one else playing a part of this poem
There is no one else telling the story
It's just me, the writer
It's just me this time, Russell Nero
Don't mind me, please
just read on and let me know what you think
Don't mind me, please
I'm just airing out the flames burning beneath my feet
I'm just lifting the pressure off my chest
I'm just letting off a series of complaints
imploding in me
I am honestly sick and disgusted
sick and tired
There's not another way to word it
I can't stand it anymore
the ways of people, the ways of man
I'm not a people person as you can tell
I'm not optimistic as well
but I tolerate what I can
for you have to friends in this living hell
I hate to say it
but my viewpoint on the matter is starting to change
why should I need friends
if they're going to stab in the heart
and laugh in victory
as I watch in horror
as they tear it apart piece by piece
Why should I have friends
when they love to raise arguments
from ashes that were never even there
Just to, what
break up the monotony of what?
our normal crazy antics
Oh yeah, that's right we don't have those anymore
if they just dream of about the lips
about some kiss
that has never and will never happen yet
but it's a safe bet
they'll just turn it into a debt
a debt I'd have to repay
for one day
down the road for something so petty
Just great, won't that be fun
I'd rather be on the run
I'd rather be away
just sitting on a bridge today
it'd be better than burning the one I pass today
So I hear now I'm the jerk
So I hear now I'm the villain
So I hear now from different tongues
'oh you're just mean'
'oh you're just a douche'
Well forget you too
I may need friends
but friends like you
What has this all come to
I could scream till I get sick
but I guess it's already halfway accomplished
I guess I'm already halfway there
but whatever
my words aren't even here
so I guess I'm done here
just playing a game as I leave the stage
Go ahead and send your review my way
or not
I don't care either way
I'm just a listener today
or is it a jerk
only you can say...
Monotony is not for me
Boredom’s partner, you will agree
Routinization does her best to stifle
Creativity ~ from eyeful to Eiffel
MAGGOT MONOTONY
on the precipice I survey
the sea of
stores and casual faceless
crowds, I the planet
lost in the tide
swarming with skulls
thrashing the facades
restless brows
maggots infest the nucleus
until the centre shrieks
like a sheet in
the night, startled by
the intense glare that
neon signs cast
upon blankness and
pointless vows
© Kim van Breda—29 June 2014
Tonight I lay in bed in dread
of returning in the morning
to the beige building on that dead end street
that floods like the Nile after a rain
potholes in the parking lot like a lunar landscape
to my tiny office the last on the left in the back
its one window facing a barren farmer’s field
where I’ll listen to the click-clack of the keyboard
as my fingers fly nimbly over it
I must have been meant for so much more than this
mind numbing monotony
of minimum wage pay though I have a college degree
to type marriage licenses and divorce decrees
tax returns submitted by the wealthy
that only serve as stark reminders of forty years of failure
to make the world take notice of me
as if I were cursed from the cradle
to be covered with a cloak of invisibility
forever to remain a nobody that no one can hear or see
as all the magic in my mind withers on the vine
wasted before it could be made into wine
Does it matter what you do
or matter what you say?
Does anything mean anything
when you live Groundhog Day?
Is there a way to please the Gods
so that they’ll let you go?
Or maybe there’s no point at all.
Perhaps it’s just a show.
But what else can you do
if you find you’re stuck in this scene.
You have to just keep going
and hope you will find the thing
that they are wanting you to learn.
You have to find a way
to end the drama, check the box…
and escape Groundhog Day.
Drinking is an emotional experience, an elixir that pulls you from the monotony of everyday life,
It takes you out of ordinary patterns, from all that is identical and dull, like a story told too many times,
It tears you from your body and mind, throws you against the invisible walls of your own existence,
I feel that drinking is a form of permitted suicide, a ritual of death from which you are reborn the next day.
It's as if you kill yourself only to be born again, like a Phoenix from the ashes of your own decisions,
And with each glass, I feel like I've lived ten or fifteen thousand lives by now,
Each sip is a journey to the abyss and back, a fall into the void and an ascent to the light,
A melancholic dance between end and beginning, between forgetting and remembering, an endless cycle of renewal.
Each night becomes its own universe, a space of emotional disorder, a chaos full of meaning,
And the morning is a blank canvas, a new life in which to rewrite the story, to try again,
This is how I live, oscillating between destruction and creation, between loss and rediscovery, a pendulum of the soul,
In a continuous balance between losing yourself and finding yourself, in a game of life and death, with each sunrise.
O Gardener! Strange is your way,
Of adorning the garden,
With flowers all alike,
Of same scent and color.
No beauty in garden.
There’s no charm.
It’s a picture without contrast.
Or a plain canvas.
Quite a monotony.
Beauty is in harmony,
Of different hues,
In blending of scents.
O Gardener! Let there be variation,
Beauty and attraction.
Leaves dancing in the breeze
Nature is blissful
When will I be
Creativity beckons
Come dance with me
Together we will break
the monotony
And wish good bye
to melancholy.