Best Overused Poems
Whisper's of October
Whispers in this soup bowl
20 minutes after its muse explodes,
Daylight remains nothing more than a dream
Warding off the howling sound in mid-September's stream
Casting a line about a ginger light,
found in the depths of everything
Engaging from the sitting twilight, numb, tranquilized
Exposing and expressing the emotions found within
An attic lost in the Ancient sky ---awaits
A poetic hand is formed ---reaching out
A hissing whisper out of the darkness,
Listen-in, the echoes of October are calling
A halo, that reconciles a mysterious monarch moon
A mono grip in which summons a mysterious voice
of sweet serenity
Poets posting poems along the midnight page
Each poet can compose a poem and mimic free fallen verses,
One might call it a creative craving curse,
Webmaster's whose words speak for themselves
Voiceless-
They feel, and spills the will of idolized ink,
Blind-handed, splitting day from night
Warm whispers, needing no food to consume
Migraines of ink, feeding the soul
Burning Pages, overused pens
They've forgotten the pretty flowers
Living like lions, who never comes out of their dens
Murmuring and devouring, the enigmas of the unknown
Eyes behind a sieve, close tighter than before,
They hide nothing-
A world created from every sky-scrape the wall
Wanting to belong, a trick -or- treat*er in disguise
No friends, everything is pretend
These poets can’t be described, can't be believed
They are the best in what they do
For all you know this poet might be me,
This poet might be you
9/3/14
Categories:
overused, addiction, character, devotion, identity,
Form:
Free verse
This morning I wrote a poem
about a yellow heart
pining for red fusion,
in a desperate attempt
to shake the fruit
that never
falls
And tonight I am alone
without tangerine lips
or the temptation of apple,
carefully watching familiar verses
unravel themselves
and fanatically dance around
like a final punctuation mark
or an overused cliche,
while my hands whittle metaphors
into a quick-witted instrument
sharp enough to scrape
the smeared imagery
off the sidewalk of poem,
Still I am not sorry
the fruit has not
fallen
to kiss my weary head,
it takes an overly cautious yellow
to see the perfect shade of red
Categories:
overused, hope, life, love, yellow,
Form:
Free verse
( Repost )
Somehow, her eyes expand with the disobedient sky
and there, she senses urchins filling water on the lake
her feet and thighs slide up changing hues,
with receding incarnations of the moon.
She bends down gazing at images on the lake
as limbs turn into seaweeds, a mermaid in pain
changing hues in the crystal white of sky…
and the moon with slices of split mirrors burn
on wiggles of unscented tresses in water.
She dips her hands to catch the sleek tail in a plunge
knowing not a word to describe the reflection on the lake,
and witness the need to flow randomly in its
entrance through the expanse of one silver sky…
trying to recover glimpses reflected in the water.
Without point of reference to unknown images,
she vaguely remembers how transparently liquid
the changing hues of the moon become watery
like a hint of coagulated blood on a mermaid’s lake...
and the laughter of the sky drips into imaginings.
.......................................
* Written for a fantasy contest that was discontinued;
its theme required entrants to describe one's mirrored
image of the self. Few comments ranged from " Nice, but I
didn't get it" to " You seemed to have overused the word
"water?" In hindsight, I asked myself," what
were you thinking? This is sloppy!"
Jerry T Curtis' This Poem S***s Contest
Categories:
overused, fantasy, identity,
Form:
Free verse
"A music group has transformed the words of this poem into a heartfelt song, it's recorded in the audio sound"
One of the radical conditions for happiness
We stay one with nature, trees, and loveliness.
For the bond between humanity and the earth.
We won't let guilt or fear rule our worth.
Earthliness is what we must embrace.
For it is our common ground.
The land, the sea, the sky, and the space
From which our lives are bound
The air we breathe and the water we drink
The soil that nurtures our needs
All things come from the earth, don't you think?
It's where our life force feeds.
But man has taken beyond what he gives.
And nature's balance is disturbed.
The earth, our common ground, now lives.
With resources overused and curbed
We must learn to live in harmony.
With the earth that sustains us all
For a healthier planet, it's our duty.
To hear nature's clarion call
Reduce, reuse, recycle, and conserve.
These words are what our creed deserves.
Categories:
overused, analogy, appreciation, beauty, earth,
Form:
Rhyme
"What do you know of love?" I seethe....
a well of passion longing to be freed
"I love you," the words I finally breathe
and think you'll know this burning need
"It's not enough," you say.
"Find another way...
say...say it differently
This, 'I love you' means
nothing to me.
Let the words break through
the mold of meaning
and be born anew
make me understand....
this...'I love you'
What does it mean to you?
I've heard it before, you see
and then after some time
I was shown out the door
Say....say it to me....differently."
"I know its overused and abused," I scream....
"but not by me...never by me!
How can I make you see?
bordering on the cliche..
What can I say?
Nothing will do!
nothing's good enough...
good enough for you!"
So I slash my breast
my heart bleeds through
in crimson warmth
I cradle you
I bath you in my salty tears
and let you in
to cloistered dreams
I let my body say it right
in liquid letters in the night
then wake you with a gentle kiss
and wrap you in
delirious bliss
each day: a testament that's true
of thousand different 'I love yous'
"So tell me now
Why you can't see
the truth that these words
mean to me?
Should you still think
these words are weak
then hear my heart
and let it speak."
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Categories:
overused, i love you,
Form:
Rhyme
Welcome back, dear me
let’s sip vintage wine and merry be
awakening to a radiant dusk exactly as is,
caressed by sheer madness igniting
a dance a swing with a playful breeze
and to soak in evening’s tickled mist,
as reaching out to others completely
drains my core like an overused machine ;
my quality time lessened slain by kindness...
Now, my days taste the cherry of life
indulging in forsaken passions leisures denied…
Yes, it’s all because self-nourishment
rings aloud: buy that violet lipstick,
paint the moon with enthralled eyes… throw a sinful dessert party and ride the carousel with complete abandon!
If Mom calls and neighbour Pam asks for extra help in her garden, I’ll wink gently—
Say no. For my heart is running empty,
It needs to be fed with jazz's tempo
without the guilt trip. So, I’ll smile at my body
And leave all for a while, as real love begins
with me, lifting this soul on the halo of fire--
Categories:
overused, self,
Form:
Light Verse
I have been in unequaled turmoil,
Overused in my personal trauma,
Drowning in tear rivers of tragedy,
Soul dipping southward trajectory,
But they do not seep from these eyes,
Nor do they follow the cries,
Just the heavy emptiness that thrives,
Within each breath hope in me dies,
But then there are those who remind me,
Why I have walked the road of words ardently,
Thank you for reigniting my linguistic dream,
I want you to know,
that you are the intrinsic thread that holds my spirit seem.
Categories:
overused, dark, grief, heartbroken,
Form:
Rhyme
It's been 9 days since I've posted in PS because of being needed by my sister. She's progressing, but very slowly. Thank you to those who've expressed your concern and offered prayers for her recovery. My granddaughter is over her crisis.
I've had little time or desire to peek into PS, but from what I've seen and been told, not only is AI rampant but plagiarism has returned. I ask you, poets... which do you consider to be the bigger offender?
A poet's voice will not be drowned out in obscurity
when from our conscience thoughts it is displayed.
But when the soup is riddled with AI cheating
and plagiarism, it's rancidly sour with impurities.
No surge of waves will stop a poet's ink from flowing
nor will gusting tempest winds cast their pens away.
It's the deep desire to write that all of us are owing
to the need of words seeking escape from the mind.
Those of us who write from heart and soul...
yes, that sounds like an overused cliche,' but AI
poetry is just a click away, written by machines
and plagiarists steal it from another source...
posting it as their own. It's demeaning to the Soup,
or as Jan would say, "It's nothing more than poop!"
I would like to think the community is worth saving
but I've seen no signs of that taking place.
Indifference is not the attitude anyone should take.
If the site matters, clean it up... for goodness sake.
Leave your thoughts in comments if you're craving
a say and I'll respond when I can from a hospital room.
None of us should take for granted a single day of life
or our family and friendships for we are not immune
to life threatening issues that always take precedence
over everything else beneath the glowing haloed moon.
Categories:
overused, community,
Form:
Rhyme
For the Haven’s advancement,
the Elite may extend a courteous backhand,
or a fist wrapped with opinion
that some may mistake for abuse.
Dante’s girl fell from her steeple
head first into a cauldron of pride,
now her feeble corpse twitches
trying to vomit the blackest pitch grey.
Stains her soldier’s dress blues
duty has him answer the bench’s call.
Gaveled verdicts now deleted,
appeals one site’s ambitions.
Often found in a library,
their little boy plays with
his toy box full of straw men
and overused emoticons.
Each breath billows the forge,
black smoke void of The Father,
they beat a gift’s beauty into a weapon,
the cutting edge of the Deceiver’s con.
Categories:
overused, abuse, bullying, culture, death,
Form:
Narrative
I've had it up to here with rappers saying they have more bars than a prison
I'm sick of celebrities saying they're a bigger star than anything in the solar system
I'm tired of rappers saying their car is upset because the roof is missing
I no longer want to hear these punchlines that are average at best
That have Been overused, are there any original writers left?
I'm tired of people who use clickbait for views
I'm sick and tired of seeing a new headline of "Kim Kardashian has new Nudes"
Let me know when she wears clothes and it'll be a bigger shock
Every time a Kardashian posts a half naked Picture, take a liquor shot
And you'll be drunk and out of your mind before the hour
I'm sick of celebrities who brag about popping pills and taking white powder
Well done, you take drugs and are destroying your life, aren't you a genius?
I'm tired of the news posting stories at their own convenience
Rihanna's outfit is a bigger headline than what's happening in Palestine
I don't care about Beyonce and Jay-Z or any celebrity and their Valentine
Unless it's me dating Ariana Grande, tell her I'll love her forever
I went off topic to mention my dream girl for good measure
I'm tired of girls saying "I don't know" when you ask them where they want to eat
So you suggest places, then they say "not there" woman, choose now before I leave
I'm sick and tired of writers rhyming you with true aswell as Heart with apart
I listen to everything everyone says, take a few gems, the rest I disregard
I've had it up to here with new rappers calling themselves the New Tupac
I'm sick of the news and media who post stories but remove facts
Because they don't give a damn about the tragedy as long as they get paid
I'm tired of talentless people getting famous from leaking their sex tape
I'm tired of people saying they could care less when they mean they couldn't
I'm tired of couples breaking up and getting back together the next day
I'm done I've got nothing more to share
I'm just venting because I've had it up to here
Categories:
overused, celebrity, fun, funny, rap,
Form:
Free verse
After a cacophony of ramblings,
day bows gently---
Infants slumber with ease in cradles,
lanterns flicker above tavern stools
as mellow winds drift around gold-hued roads
paving the way
for flights of quietude:
Somehow, mothers hush their loved ones
to tend angel dreams
before sunglow ascends… while elders pat
loyal dogs in tenements far from home:
And young girls close overused iPods,
widows reminisce; single fathers
unlock the fence, tired—
Somehow, heartbroken women lay
on empty chairs alone,
Lovers fondle sigh deeply relieved.
This is nightfall. Its language of voices
breathes through different tones,
climbing into our hearts
where we exhale syllabic pain and glory,
until robin-wings unravel our incantations
to liberate us against hidden wails.
~
For PD's Impress Me with an Old Poem (002) Contest
Written 12/2018 ,S.O.
Resubmitted 10/7/2020
Categories:
overused, feelings, voice,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
images pour erratically
falling on eyelashes
tears fueling my pen
always the sadness
finds me waiting
wrenching emotion
twisting my heart
in a vice grip
can't stop the images
from driving me insane
raped and murdered eyes
pleading for children
drowned beneath
adult oppression
and addiction
it's the emptiness
that I write
a cursed
social consciousness
that blinds
I don't write love
for it lies
can't find happiness
to send to my pen
for it lays behind
my eyes
a tired whore
spent and overused
with too much hype
can't even pen security
never found that either
under blankets or kisses
not even in hardened urges
that deflate just as quickly
conveying only want and need
no I write of sadness
I return there
a drunk to cheap wine
guzzling my addiction
with lust
it holds me safe
for it is familiar
I live it
I see it
it knows my name
and I know its
we are intimate
sadness and I
a couple
twisted together
in some grotesque
sexual position
culiminating in ******
with my depressed pen
Categories:
overused, introspection, life, on writing
Form:
Free verse
Most of the days as I buy vegetables
the old woman would move around
close to me like the winter tree
The leaves mostly robbed by the time
tangled age seated in the hair
the freckles painting the drudgery
The unwashed and overused sari
stained by the tears of poverty
Would not speak to beg money
would just move around
with the eloquent wounds
Most of the days but not every time
I would give her small amounts
A faint almost invisible smile
Would come and disappear
The lips lacked tissue
The other day in the late afternoon
when the shadows had started prolonging
under the banyan tree
the afternoon light and the leaves
wove hand in hand a story in the shadow
The very small and irregular shapes
of the pale soft light
sat in such a way that gave the impression
of a woman squatted on the pavement
It looked so from a distance of say thirty feet
As I came close
I found the old woman sprinkling
parched rice to the pigeons
The source of the shadow the afternoon painted
beneath the tree
A little tissue collected in the lips now
The lilac of love doesn't wither
Nor the object
______________________________________
March 2, 2018
Categories:
overused, beauty, life, love,
Form:
Free verse
brittle stained jagged fingernails
scratch against the splint hairs
of a cold weathered wooden elbow
an impatient clock had sapped
a once supple leather coat
now requiring constant mending
as homeless unraveling posed an inevitable ending
torn pockets spilled over
with a plethora of dead letters
hope had long ago delivered
its final walking papers
without care of return receipt
handmade trees with news of unease
spun unmercifully
into the arms of a brisk fall breeze
birds began their escape
into the mouth of another sun
a slow rise from a patinaed throne
on a benched park seat
a myopic vision of how cracks
are formed on overused and forgotten streets
she walks alone
to nowhere
a decayed ballerina
the place she is seen as most complete
Categories:
overused, life, lonely, woman,
Form:
Free verse
Am I hideous
So many years have drained,
slowly taking what was once mine
scattering it over endless thoughts and memories
and I wonder why, where has it all gone?
Silver finds locks once dark,
muscles speak in much louder tones
Sleep is something of youthful moments
and nightmares wrap me where once bloomed orchids
Coming down that mountain…stumbling,
gazing on the valley below, green and lush,
envying those who still smile,
holding hands and drinking of life
one happy sip at a time
from that half full glass held next to their hearts
Not a drop spilled on their dance floor,
mixing with saw dust and erratic footprint designs
A tear finds my cheek, lonely as it is
asking what did it mean, why has loved passed me by?
Nary a wave or a nod, eyes fixed elsewhere
Am I hideous……………………why did I just grin?
One more butterfly touches and I didn’t notice,
until now…perhaps
There’s that word again, perhaps…seems overused
though it hasn’t been spoken in ages
Entering that final path, winding…tiring so
but a spring in the old step, a bounce found in place of a crawl
“Sweet the fragrant air doth find me of you”
Why did I just say that, and in a voice I hadn’t heard in so long?
Seems to be singing…and it is me…me
and funny…I hear harmony
So it has come, the voices of my past belting out a few notes
into the mind of crab cake crumbles and starched socks
Yet it is not in my head, it is on the wind…a cool breeze of song
wafts along aged skin and tickles…and I laugh at the feeling
When she appears from a field of lavender, different yet perfect,
beautiful eyes, lips…I must be going insane…they said it would happen…madness
Then she smiles at me and I smile back, could this be….love…me?
Taking my hand we run…yes run…uphill…and I feel free
Reaching in my pocket I pull out the four leaf clover
I found when I was twelve and whisper…”Took you long enough”
Categories:
overused, age, love,
Form:
Free verse