Best Pointless Poems
Now here's a contest that seems pointless
But, up to a point, I guess it will do.
The points in my life have sometimes been fruitless,
I just thought I would point that out to you.
Oh, the point of this rhyme
May be pointed one way,
But it is at this point in time
To score points by what I say.
The point that I am making,
Is that there is always some point
That life points in a way forsaking,
Giving your point a grave disjoint.
I have pointed out many times
that points are good and bad.
But the good points I remember better
Rather than the bad points I have had.
You can sometimes see how pointless it is
To try to point these things out.
As for the point I am making,
You get the point...no doubt!
Bwahahahaha
this is pointless laughter. Ha
hahahahaha
A common mistake,
a misunderstanding,
too much to take,
there's no clear landing.
Guards go up,
but walls come down
in a mess of words
thrown all around.
A sticky situation
is all that they have,
no reconciliation
can fix the bad.
Do you still search mirrors, looking for me?
Do you now look outward–in to where you were,
but have never really been?
Like a stubborn cobweb, you dust my tired mind
and pool my older tears as my feelings rewind.
You sought to be lost upon untreaded paths
seeded with selfish young wrath.
I am sadly sure that you torched any existing map.
I had to be me - more than just your sought need.
I had to grow - but you said ‘no’, so I had to be freed.
You paled with cold, refused my warmth and disappeared.
You vanished. To me, it will never focus as something clear.
You, my you – lost in time, lost in place.
Most times, I steer towards a good cope.
Other times I feel you should have to know
all the parts of me that your lost, cost.
We shared our dreams, first kept in a free box.
We grew them on baby powder and giggles.
Our childhood dreams were warm escapes that felt nice,
but we aged and I matured. You secured resistance.
Expensive are dream rates when love is the price.
One good life lost. Two potential joys tossed. Pointless sacrifice.
Sometimes remembrances linger more light and I may then think,
maybe you live happily lost in our old, free, dream box.
Navigating nervously through our natural neighborhood, our native nest away from the noise and neon nightlights
No need for the numerous noxious normality's named nectars of necessity
Neurotic nightmares of numbers and names; knickknacks, nukes, and narrow-minded ways
Nauseating and never-ending
Noble is the nomad; nimble through the netting with no need for its negativity
A new narration away from normal to the nurturing arms of nature
Neutral and nocturnal, novel nuances for the nameless and the neglected seeking nirvana
Negate the noose nudged forward by our nation and nullify the negative, bare naked in numinous nascent
Why do people have to die,
for something as stupid as war?
It's pointless,
It's worthless,
and causes nothing but pain.
There may be that moment,
when the victory is great.
But there's always after,
when the sorrow sinks in,
the tears fall,
and hearts break.
Fathers and sons are lost,
leaving wives and mothers behind.
Alone to grieve,
alone to weap,
and to scream at the sky,
despising to world.
It's something that she,
will never ger over.
That she lost her som or husband,
to the squables of countries.
There is no joy in this pointless bloodshed,
that causes nothinf but heartwretching pain.
It's pointless,
and it's worthless.
So why do so many hace to die,
for something as stupid as war.
What would you expect to accomplish here?
In this house these people are incapable of feeling.
Indulging in eternity inside their frozen frameworks.
They began to grow suspicious as our mouths burn like acid with
Every word we wish we could utter.
If the tape were gone, who would believe this unspoken chaos?
The answer settles on the back of my tongue as
Your pulling at the skirt of serenity.
You'll touch me with your thoughts and never with your hands.
I could breathe a thousand seas for this and this alone.
In a dreaming state,
Our mouths burn with something other than confinement.
In a dreaming state,
We sit and watch the waning moon.
In a dreaming state,
Our thoughts will escalate to any
Action of our own five senses.
But in this bitter sea,
We'll spend our days plummeting down these aimless rabbit holes
With the freedom of choice in a predetermined world.
is there any point
To do things you hate to live
and truely love life?
in the end theres always something pointless holding us back from discovering what we
could become or what we will become or who we can become or when we will become it or even
if it becomes us or maybe just maybe everyone becomes someone else but trapped in a
different reality one which we cannot see them but they can see us like a two way mirror thats
trapped in infinity but which in another time and place could become something that
encompasses all that we say and do and all that every other soul on the planets say and do
but it will not restrict our actions because freedoms are more important than being free
but i digress somewhat because in the end theres always something pointless holding us
back..............
Why did you bother
You don’t need me
You don’t feed me
And we’re not having fun
Why did you bother to come?
You don’t hate me
You won’t date me
But I’m under your thumb
Why did you bother to come?
Did you think it was a holiday
Where you could play
All your little games on me
Did you think my world is grey
And you can stay
as long as everything
Is free
You ain’t dying
You ain’t trying
And I think that I’ve won
Why did you bother to come?
It’s a crime
To waste my time
So I think that’s it hun
Why did you bother to come?
You’re not caring
You’re not sharing
Buying coffee for one
Why did you bother to come?
What I find pointless are some words we speak
Like isotope, calamity and wretch
Wandering through a meadow of steel
I see the cold field outstretch.
And upon the bottom of the left side’s right
The top begins to bend
A sight so ghastly, grisly and pure
That no one could portend
When the clock tics slowly to 25 o’clock
When the seas’ waves crash no more
Against the November rainy sky
The ground will hit the floor
And resound around, around and around
‘Til there is no sound in the dell
And the spiky clouds swell high in to the sky
Through the heart of the pimpernel
So the reason without scorn
And the thought without a glance
To the occasion, rise to meet the ire
Expressing words that are absurd
They interrupt the blubbered bird
To the point where it begins to sound dire
But don’t you fret or worry
for the answer you will find
is in the meaning of the words left yet to speak
And if less is to the point then the point is to the less
And the very meaning changes, oh mystique!
A butter tin, a biscuit packet, a shampoo bottle, a can of hairspray. Writing writing writings. Inherited wisdom of print. Wow. Exclusive. And dip doo doo. Well it takes an elephant with round glasses on a field trip to study. Really quite ridiculous. Lines and Luna characteristics shrouded in a cavernous vault of systematic judgemental falsities. So beware. Be very aware. Oh dear. A rattle is stuck in a tree. Or is it a train. Or is it a minefield. Colour that in then. Sell sell sell. Mission done. Domes. Shoot shot shat. Sew and a good morning. And a night. Meetinghouse not in print then. Just die death deathly dipping drape. How cosy it must be. 500 £ or 5 million dollars hmmm interesting. Tailored trapped tea partygoers in lobster suits fry fry fry on yachts drinking salty sanitized sambucca. Hahahaha but no hahahaha. *** Deuteronomy dog. Z capital z.
Sodden was I in their praise; myself I let wash away
Their words, drops of nourishment to my own
A pedestal had I found beneath myself
My inspiration, had I forgotten.
Weeks pass, the error of my ways known
Studies do I pursue in vain
The serenity found, now lost
An act of passion, now a tedious task.
Attempted to mend, have I mentally
Fear the response, will I always
My name seeps no honour
The credit I claimed, was never owed.
Each write, diminished by discrepancy
Without you, is there no point to ink.
Money got lost.
Everyone screaming.
What use is my input?
Too often I have heard, in overcrowded English classes,
a long speech from the smartest professor of literature using
too many words to annoy students who couldn't help laughing;
they'd have understood, if he had only used a fewer words!
" What a boring teacher we have! " someone yelled from the auditorium.
Yes, it raised eyebrows even across the nearby stadium,
where many were listening without much focus or interest,
" He should have been a preacher instead! " another student cried out.
" Make your point, don't waste your energy on eloquence and feeling!"
The outspoken, well-dressed young man shouted. Then he added,
" Are you reading poetry or clarifying the subject? And he continued
saying, " The shorter, the clearer...so that we can grasp it's meaning!"
Every bugged face turned its attention to him, applauding with incredible delirium,
but the professor angered at them, quickly stepped down the podium...
bursting into tears from the embarrassment and the bewildering looks;
perhaps having recognized his stupidity, he'd have been better off writing books!