Best Unproductive Poems
There is no power greater than the Lord's, but there is a powerful lesson to be learned by not stumbling off on a fool's errand. That idiom is a phrase that explains the undertaking of a futile effort to find or prove something that is an impossible task. Thus, the effort becomes a waste of time and a fool's game to play. It is doomed to succeed from the start, even if the journey taken is by one with a good heart. The goal will never be reached when shrewd ones preach one thing and hand out rose-colored glasses to disguise words they speak but never practice. They tickle the ears of all who will listen, but the truth is what the naive ones will never hear. The real fool's errand is trying to unveil the fools who in spite of all efforts to conceal it, reveal themselves when the truth will out.
it's a waste of time
to go on a fool's errand~
fruitless endeavor
The phrase itself implies that it would be an unproductive effort and a lesson in futility such as Sisyphus rolling a boulder uphill only to watch it roll back down again. So, don't allow yourself to be disappointed, nor disjointed when the foolhardy in the world ..."don't know how to get along, yet, they pretend they've done nothing wrong."* It would be much wiser to avoid engaging with those who are always caught up in the throes of what they haughtily impose upon unsuspecting others. Excuse these added idioms, but they will help make the point about not getting a nose out of joint thinking a fool's errand is 'not my cup of tea.' Or, I'd rather 'call it a day' then chase a fool whose life has gone astray. Don't 'shoot yourself in the foot' by being a fool on an errand that will only prove to be 'a wild goose chase.'
in a world of fools
don't be duped to prove them wrong~
prove yourself wiser
* Sandra Feldman in her poem: 'Foolish World'
Categories:
unproductive, encouraging,
Form:
Haibun
Feeling the desolation, of smothering air
Hemmed in by crowds; the obliqueness of fear
Throng of the city and no sight of the sun
Incessant noise and the desire to just run.
And I drive.
Arterial routes clogged by metal and wheels
Schizophrenic drivers living others ideals
Neon and lights sizzling the sides of the streets
Marketing signage, greed’s consumer receipts.
And I drive.
White picket fences, roses, and manicured lawns
Ridiculous box housing, erected for ludicrous pawns
Playgrounds, big supermarkets, cafes and parks
Sprawling suburbia with its pools built by sharks.
And I drive
Warehouses dispensing the needs of the hordes
Industrious factories like cash castles of lords.
Sawmills busily feeding more desecration of land
Refuse collection sites completely sterile and bland.
And I drive.
Ten-acre barons on frivolous bundles of dirt
Escaping urbanity in the unproductive outskirts.
Postage stamp fields supporting ponies and kids
While toffee nose parents sit in ultra posh digs.
And I drive
Paddocks of cattle dispersed through productive farmland
Shiny new tractors with men toughened and tanned
Marshmallow hay bales pimple the face of the ground
Irrigators urinate on earth until drowned.
And I drive.
Magnificent mountains covered in beckoning trees
Clear running streams and whispering breeze
Wild flowers gently waving as robins flit all around
Radiant true colours and smoothing calm sounds.
And yes I am home.
Categories:
unproductive, change, conflict, nonsense,
Form:
Rhyme
Life is like a highway with many a perilous twist and turn!
Alas, not all roads are straight and narrow, of that for which we yearn.
Many are the detours we must take traveling life's fleeting bourne.
Though the road be strewn with potholes, these are hazards to be borne!
When nearing a "Y" in the road, it might be well to gently tap the brake,
Or even stop to contemplate the fateful decision you're about to make.
"If I take the left, will it lead to a life of misery - such a terrible blunder,
Or if I take the right, might that enhance my ultimate fate, I wonder?"
Many are the warning signs along life's highway that must be heeded!
A miserable and unproductive life will surely ensue, if they go unheeded.
Perhaps a few U-turns will be needed to make corrections along the way,
But a well-planned route will ease the stress to keep from going astray!
A compass calibrated on things above will guide you to your destination.
It will keep you focused on life's itinerary through trial and tribulation.
Life's treacherous highway will be rife with blind spots, curves and bends.
Clear judgment is needed to cruise life's highway and the risks it portends!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 4 in Kim Merryman's "Life Is..." Contest - September 2012
Categories:
unproductive, introspection, life, life,
Form:
Rhyme
They made mammon somethng measurable, mighty, & magnificent,
everywhere that labor, exchange, & entertainment exist monuments
to money, large and small,
the genesis was excess manufacture
such as grain, gold, textiles & ceramics,
animals & people,
purveyors were born like corn on the cobb,
like mist in morning,
buearruacracies of religion & government emerged from the basic business
of buy & sell, structure was supplied by law & covetuousness,
the greed of need,
people enticed to sell their Spirit in the form of toil for products,
eventually for fiat currencies, profit took the place of contribution,
slavery evolved into serfdom,
from the plantation to the factory unproductive owners needed managers,
individuals with minimal compassion & maximum ambition, essence extractors,
the whip replaced by the 'write up' and tacit threat of poverty,
the iron chain supplanted by hopelessness of ignorance in limited training,dependency,
management believed in synergy,the kind that rewarded the few
at the expense of the many,
the river of Life tore into the irrigation of wealth for selected heredity,
bussinessmen want employees & citizens with low self esteem, shallow interests & passions,
economy as cosmos, profits as pieties, workers as sinners,
edicts of 'minimum wage' and requirements for age are simply Market stabilizers
implemented to ensure profit,
taxes a financial plan of slave paid for regulation,
the management caste, the sociological strata designed to keep laborors feeling underachieving,
crows squawking against crows so that dragons fly free -
J.A.B.
Categories:
unproductive, education,
Form:
Didactic
Which way leads to the
land of green white
green?
Which way are we
heading?
A country the wicked
bears the rulership, and
the people sighing
continuously.
A terrible thing sprouts
beneath the sun: a
pregnant woman
delivering not.
Imps come to lime-light
by snuffing air from the
goose that laid the
golden eggs.
The blind guiding the un
blind.
The weak suppressing
the strong-a terrible
thing.
Like the overthrow of the
gods at Mt. Olympus by
the Titans.
A country where also
thieves appear as men of
integrity.
Land of green white
green,which way?
A land where the
enlightened ones are
overshadowed and
peanuts given to them.
The masses are dogs that
eat the crumbs.
Which way to go you
Land?
Iliterates stand on
podium of power
bellowing orders as milk
of sorrow known as
dividends of democracy
is passed around.
The machine of progress
manned by the
unproductive.
"There is better
tomorrow" we hear.
Land of green white
green,my country
where rule of law walk
beside anarchy.
The proles are sentenced
to adversity,and there
endured death-like trials.
Chai! Aru! People
dancing on thorns
whimpering as they
throng
along.
I see a new sun rising
from the horizon,hope is
rekindled as its rays
grace on hopeless bodies.
Look!! there soon be
change!
Note:
This
is
poem
full
of
Nigeria
political
angst.
Categories:
unproductive, africa, anger, angst, betrayal,
Form:
Narrative
The train approaches in the distance
Through a tunnel we gave birth
The chimney smog marries the low clouds
Of increasing heavy traffic and haze of garbage fires
Red roof tops absorb long wave radiation
The neighbourhood’s listening to the world
Through aerials and satellite dishes
The potholes feel like exploding landmines
As vehicles detour onto the pavements
People stroll in the middle of overcrowded streets
While children play soccer and drive brick blocks
Through new eyes,
Everything still looks the same or worst
Who will drive the train of progress,
Who will pilot change?
The township must be demolished!
It symbolises everything wrong with us,
Stagnation, procrastination and assimilation
The corners are occupied by gangs of ‘nyaope boys’
Who have made it their career to be unproductive
It’s a gaping sore of apartheid’s legacy
That will never heal, not in a century...
It is on the periphery, a dumping ground
Not prime land earmarked for human habitation
Through new eyes, we must have a clearer vision
A landscape with a lush vegetation on the horizon
No amount of money can ever buy a slum,
The infrastructure of a safe neighbourhood and good sanitation
When the very same people who seek to improve it,
Don’t reside within it and merely claim it to be their roots
No RDP can ever be a beautiful home, through new eyes
No amount of Shoprite stores will make it look right
No township will ever evolve into a City proper
I repeat, demolish the township!
Categories:
unproductive, africa, community, political,
Form:
Prose
The drum is sounding
From Queens in New York
Stretching to the horns of America
And the horns of Africa
Hear them applause
They call it the Trump drum of triumph
I sat on my chair of reeds
And looked towards north America
O, Horns of America!
Send your messengers across the pacific and be specific
Send waves of excitement for the Republican
U.S President elect---who entranced the long serving mother
The mother of United States who has done enough for the U.S
To stand on HER feet
Tell the world what a drum it is
Should it be a drum of war!
The trump drum of triumph
Is offbeat
Those are tourists at Las Vegas
Watching the Trump towers
Fathoming the towers would reform into a gold mine
A precious gold mine to America and the world
The Americas and the world at large in awe
But agape with an intriguing question
Will the Trump drum of triumph not sell America to the world?
Either, will it not sell the world to America?
Now that Trump needn’t a salary?
Does he have a business plan in his palace behind his unproved humility?
America wonders---the world looks on---hat trick or not!
Let the white house and the black house both keenly watch
The start of this political game
Should he meddle in his belly and ignore America and the world?
The Trump drum of triumph
Is offbeat
What is his say on gay-ism and lesbianism?
Where Barrack Obama was offbeat-ism
The practice that is against God-ism
Which spoils ten thousand American children daily-ism
A man kissing a man-ism
A woman kissing a woman-ism
Abominable act in the world traditional society-ism
How about Illuminati, the god worshipers that are barriers between God and mankind-ism?
Consult Trump’s priest-ism
To burn down all the shrines of Baphomet in Americas-ism
And the National church of bey where our men become unproductive-ism
By sacrificing their manhood-ism
They become infertile for life-ism
Heal the world again dear Trump-ism
Make my county South Sudan a country again-ism
And refrain from God’s wrath-ism
Only then will the Trump drum of triumph-ism
Not be offbeat-ism
Categories:
unproductive, success,
Form:
Free verse
If I ever meet depression in the physical form
I will inflict more damage than a biblical storm.
Invading my mind like satanic parasites,
feasting on my happiness bite after bite.
I'm hating myself for the person I've become,
I'm helpless to it, pathetic weak and dumb.
Thwarted and fallen, appallingly unproductive.
The torment insurgence transforms me destructive.
I'm useless and failing, increasingly alien,
these aint excuses, it's depression I'm wailing.
I'm left handed, right handed, ADHD,
depression, self loathing and anxiety.
My ambition went missing with drive and dreams,
my confidence in submission to doubt that gleams,
these parasites co-ordinate as an efficient team.
My one weapon is hope, and hope is supreme.
7/6/2019
Categories:
unproductive, anxiety, depression, hope, suicide,
Form:
Rhyme
By George P. Lumayag
https://georgelumayag.weebly.com/
Silent twilight like the darkest forest in the southeast
Covered with giant trees and surrounded by huge cliffs;
Sad natives in the valley mourned and cried in vain;
The conscious thoughts believed such coffin would hear
The Kulilisi master as god of prose and poetry,
And he smartly horned the rule with brilliant sounds,
With his handkerchief like a paper plane - landed to start the game.
Then, he rendered the riddle as scrabble-puzzled words;
A wrong try made the fruitless poet to recite
Kulilisi free-verses and poetry of any poetical type;
Then, the unproductive received a gift certificate.
Young and old heard, women and men desired
The title as the Kulilisi Prince and Princess of the Night
So the master stepped forward and riddled the rest;
Then, waited a correct or wrong try from the poets.
Successful dreamers would still occupy the witty floor
And could still enjoy the sweet phrases like Metaphors;
Then, the master of words still riddled a squad of dreamers
And he waited the correct answer and hyperbolically staged the verdict;
Kulilisi ended and the successful poets recited
The undying witty words spoken in figurative language.
Categories:
unproductive, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Rhyme
Sometimes in the winter my teeth will chatter
Getting out of bed makes such a clatter
waking up is no fun when all I want is the warmth of my blanket
But, although waking up is never fun
The new day beacons, come, come
Opportunities await
Invigorating is the new day
Swimming, weightlifting, learning new things
If no one got out of bed, what would this world be?
Unproductive, sad, and gloomy
Is that how you want to see our future?
Categories:
unproductive, inspirational, on work and
Form:
Free verse
St. Duloxetine, thee we beseech
Our chemical plaster to fill the breach
Between raw emotions and hard reality
Our primal instincts and plastic society
Give to your supplicants a brightened scene
With norepinephrine, serotonin, dopamine
So traffic jams hum not so loud
Mindless tasks morph to puffy clouds
Pastel pinks from glowing reds
Dark clouds lighten over our heads
Ease the wear of countless miles
Flatten our frowns, deepen our smiles
Relieve of us of our myriad obsessions
Lengthen our spousal bonding sessions
Allow us to be more like our Savior
Free from socially unproductive behavior
No clay-colored stools or gastrointestinal pain,
Just another day without psychic rain
And of burning questions in our heads
How gently you put them to bed
And should we cry as it all flies by
Sing our weary souls a lullaby
5/3/16
© Thomas W. Quigley
Categories:
unproductive, depression, prayer, psychological, ,
Form:
Couplet
1.Fill me up, I am always lacking.
Consumption, the name of the game.
The hunger devours the horse,
fattens me to the core.
I'm about to burst...
Always empty,
yet full of
loveless
fear.
2. My my what a big piece of the pie!
Pension raiders anonymous.
We live to carry secrets,
yearning to fill this need.
Profit devotees
live a life of
penniless
loveless
fear.
3. I mean honest to God, what's the point?
We're all gonna die...why bother?
I may as well just sit here
wallowing in despair,
a quiet, lonely,
unproductive
slacker. A
loveless
fear.
4. You want the goods? I'll give you the goods!
Come here baby and say hello.
How easy is it to come
to life, awe inspiring
mother to us all
prostituting
shame, guilt, and
loveless
fear.
5. Mirror mirror on the bathroom wall.
Am I pretty enough to be
a beauty queen? Parade me
around in fancy cars.
I must protect my
reputation
hinged on a
loveless
fear.
6. Grass is greener on the other side.
Why wouldn't it be? These neighbors
are so filthy rich with their
hundred thousand dollar
landscaping jobs and
mansions built on
envious
loveless
fear.
7. In the end there was always hatred,
deeply seated, mindless, blind rage.
Searching for a suitable
target. Lies built on lies.
Ready to explode:
unforgiving,
merciless,
loveless
fear.
By all means, you sinless wretch
Go ahead, live on cloud nine!
But I can't share in your euphoric state of ecstasy...
I just don't feel that way about myself
never have
never will
*dedicated to Kevin Spacey and his love of all things sinful.
Categories:
unproductive, angst, introspection, parody, philosophyme,
Form:
Nonet
My somewhat outsize ears and longish neck
(I swear exist, which contrary to popular myth
never seen by living persons) support this egg shaped
(fried or scrambled some might argue) head.
A mostly flat and hairless chest attests to a regular
regimen of light (self-concocted) chest-pounding routine.
Exercise (as well as meditation) a vital part of my
daily program to deal with the ordinary stresses
of primitive existence. Coffee happens to be the
sotto voce sole vice, which exotic brews provide
helpful jump-start. I sometimes even chump on cup
kept teeth sharp. That unproductive habit came
to a screeching halt after breaking every pearly white.
Now to that locale known as the trumpeting rump
pull stilts skin. Although the unseen forces of biology
and genetics dealt me an itsy bitsy, tiny tushy
(which serves as the but for fellow Apes to taunt
and tease) such anatomical feature offers little
value as the worthiness of sexual prowess.
This palm pilot sized gluteus Maximus offers one benefit.
Ease to squeeze into tight spaces without getting stuck.
This tiny tushy accompanied by a vestigial and
teeny-weensy Weiner schnitzel of a phallus, which
undersized cock a doodle do doth bulge into
an erectile state within shooting distance of
coveted warm, wet and wooly private world
property of each and every woman.
A pair of skinny (flamingo like) legs (covered in
adequate hair) now completes this general character sketch.
Categories:
unproductive, 11th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
children growing up in a bewildering moral landscape
what is right, what is wrong, what is politically correct
with mindless amusements or habits they seek escape
the media, education, religion they all opposing direct
the parents fared no better, controlled and farmed by big corporation
forced to deny and reject healthy lifestyles for a media fairyland
fears of security used to control peoples and their co-operation
many disillusioned escape in drugs or simply bury their head in sand
The true God is rejected and must not interfere in education or morals
unborn are murdered, the sick, the old, the unproductive used as guinea pigs
manliness, bravery, patriotism are rejected garlanded with florals
out is male and female, in is all manner of sexual thingamajiggs
is it any wonder the young are confused
good is condemned and evil behaviour excused
brainwashed by legal lies that the real truth is refused
the future looking foggy and so none is enthused
What is truth asked once a ruler to Him who is the truth
What is truth, what is the meaning asks today's youth
Where will they get their truth in a morass of lies
Who will lead them to the truth, who will hear their cries
Categories:
unproductive, anxiety, youth,
Form:
unproductive night
dusty canvas still white…
saddened by his plight
Robb A. Kopp
© Nov.13.2012
Categories:
unproductive, art, depression, life,
Form:
Senryu