Futilely Poems | Examples

Birds-of-Paradise

When some Birds-of-Paradise sit to dine,
they may eat a fruit like a clementine.
Others prefer an insect to a plant,
favoring a futilely praying mantis.

Ugly beautiful

I want to write something beautiful for you
How can when all I am is ugly?
Grab a mirror just to be sure
Reflecting sunsets and puppies
Can something common be bonny?
It is only in your eyes I am pretty
I see your bud in the dead of May
Without your gaze I’m rotting peat
You are the blue wisteria lasting days
These despised hands still tap futilely
You ask me why I need all these drugs
I tell my love they are veils to mad beauty
You tell me I’m adorable like sunsets
You tell me this puppy to finish a painting
In my bones, ugly see beauty the best
Your childish perspective is simply pure 
My maturity is a cracked cynical beauty
With ego waking beauty descends
Art is just banging on the gate of Eden
With ego sleeping the drawbridge descends
Adam and Eve used to be lovely
A fig leaf won’t cover what’s ugly
Your beauty crosses bearing my words
You baptize the serpent in me
A pen will not ink away my sins
Child, bring me back to the Tree of Life
No drink of mine will make me lovely
Make my words innocent children
Hate not the sins of the father
There is no page for hate in beauty
No room for ugly me

I would have wished your departure to be a labyrinth with no exit

I would have wished your departure to be a labyrinth with no exit,
To feel how each step of yours futilely fights against the longing that does not yield.
Every sleepless night, until the morning embraced us with its warm rays,
I knew, you were there, a participant in our ephemeral paradise.
Ah, if only you had left a clue that the traces of my caresses on the back of your hand
Would be replaced by another dream creator, by other fingers, what other world they would build.
And then I would have known how to forget, to erase every memory and coffee stain from the abandoned cup,
Which you left forgotten, a prisoner between the cupboard walls, still bearing your cold kiss.
I wouldn't have prayed for the peace of a goodbye,
If I had known that every heartbeat would become a verse dedicated to you,
An unspoken song of the soul, in secret, to you.
Surely, one day my stars will become a voice, bearers of confidences across time and space,
They will speak to you with the sweetness of lost nights, with the testimony of a love eternally written in the firmament.

Imposter Syndrome

We see ourselves unimpeded initially 

Some are stricken with a view artificially 

We are told by others very specifically

There is a ceiling so proceed timidly

We try in vain with no support futilely

As we age blazing the path dizzily 

Sometimes we see the results dismally

Eventually we learn to climb skillfully

We began to achieve sufficiently 

Eventually finding success brilliantly 

Living life with dreams so vividly 

Sadly, a haunting voice still speaks flippantly 

Reminding us of the ceiling frigidly 

We remain in the arena mistily 

Each overcautious step taken judicially

We endure the voice shouting viciously 

The battle to continue is done willfully

My Reincarnation

Whatever I did last time didn’t work 
because here I am again.

Before I died I was Me
after I died I was Me
today I am Me.
But also now I am me, the spongy ego
that was fattened up on Catholic scripture
     one flavor of monotheism 
     in which three dimensional humans grasp futilely 
     at infinitely dimensional God
     [or Reality or Infinity or…].
     Anomalously an individual has the 
     universal experience of God
     and sets about to share the experience
     and followers create a religion 
     that captures the essence 
     of what they thought the anomalous individual meant.
It is stale words promoting faith as a path to salvation
on a bright polished spoon
wielded by desperate yet confident people
selling something that they do not own.
I departed so we both could be alone.

In the center of myself
there is a vastness that can be elusive
where feelings arise
knowledge becomes wisdom
and Truth is illuminated.

The Mountain's Fall

Gleaming golden hoard,
dazzling great gems of old.
With each strike, metal folds,
parts of a story of mountains untold.

Keep feeding the fire,
raise the blazes' ire.
In burning furnace, metals cry,
a sweet, renewing sounds of a choir.

Thrones carved in golden beauty,
The Arkenstone, still there to see.
Waltzing feet echoed the halls. 
the Elder Days before the fall.

Now heard the tramps of doom,
with eyes set for gold-filled rooms.
Each step reaps a soul,
each breath wrought ash and coal.

The bells sang in sorrow,
The Dale futilely fired the arrows.
To Erebor they retreat,
But Erebor fell, and the dragon now sleeps.

One Whose Devilish Heart Comes From the Fridge

One Whose Devilish Heart Comes From The Fridge

Why did I write, " I do truly love her"
Carve love lost hope into innocent bark
She that had called me a surly cur
An insult that left a deep hidden mark.

What folly, a black curse that never ends.
O the sheer agony of, "lets' be friends".

This love-storm, its endless revolutions
Far worse than a tempest and a hanging
From dark depths of mankind's evolution
The hard invisible blows still clanging.

What folly, a black curse that never ends.
O the sheer agony of, "lets' be friends".

Insanity- to love so futilely
Live in past dreams - under a falling bridge
Follow along, so damn dutifully
One whose devilish heart comes from the fridge.

What folly, a black curse that never ends.
O the sheer agony of, "lets' be friends".

R.J. Lindley, Feb 2nd, 1973
Rhyme
 ( From within the frozen and heartless Void )

Love-Tide

Just a smile, a muffled snow-quiet one, 
deafening in its silence when hearts ache 
at parting, and dreams crash on barren shores -
the ebb and flow of love-tides cease to surge.

The sails of our ship were whiplashed by storms, 
still I held on to dignity unfazed,
a saving grace biding steadfast with me,
and I was not sucked into your abyss.

We played a circle game of loves and hates,
a love-tide maze infinite and daunting,
no sense chasing after dreams beyond reach.
We shrugged off cloaks of false sensuality.

Love’s intoxication have been heady,
but like tides in seas battled by tempests
we were carried away from safe anchor,
struggled futilely and not finding land.

Now our love-tides are soothing, finding calm,
conflicts resolved, forgotten, forgiven.
The future beckons - an alluring path
for us to explore. We have moved on.


@jjote 022521

I Thoroughly Enjoy Dialogue With Second Continuity

Such pipedream regarding
winning bucket loads of cash,
would make monetary woes
in an instantaneous flash
mine dentures no longer
will futilely grind and gnash,
cuz I would undergo oral surgery
and simultaneously acquire

mush sought after gumption,
where dental implants
could offer million dollar smile
mastication boring full force
while I monstrously, yet easily mash
the most unpalatable pop slop
made with tender loving care
courtesy the missus.

Selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors
play key role to alleviate paroxysms
debilitating bouts of anxiety and panic attacks
wracked these lovely bones
during their roaring twenties
severely impinging potential to relish
joys and sorrows present within mein kampf

vast stretches of life sabotaged
courtesy mental health challenges,
thus I acknowledge miracle of modern medicine
particularly prescription medication
(iterated within first line of this verse),
which allows, enables and provides
blessed escape illness noggin tortured.

Colored Pink

Colored pink,
She waits,
Shivery, blithely,
Aesthetically,
You could say—
Low fidelity.

Colored pink,
The milk
She drinks
Misses and falls
Everywhere.
Beautiful, a
Mountaintop
Piercing the
Sky. Even the
Angels are
Transfixed.

Colored pink,
She tries the
New thing while
Rain races the
Sunset futilely,
Sadly, lovingly.
The rain is
Called Juliet.

Colored pink,
She has lace
That she traces,
She misses the
Call of wine,
The hammock
Of druggy sleep,
Eros.

Colored pink,
Kill her softly,
Then kill her
Roughly, remorselessly,
Color her blue,
Then see it pinker,
Pinker. Squeeze
And show her
It’s real.

Colored pink,
Cigarette
Smoke is
Something you
Learn to like.
Just like being
Pink, you learn
To like it. And
Screaming is
Second nature.

Colored pink,
She speaks
Breathily after
A mint. When
She stretches,
The oceans
Turn flat and
All the sounds
Dissipate.

Colored pink,
She waits,
Quivery, haphazardly,
Dangerously,
You could say—
Amorously.
She feels it,
It’s deadly, she
Needs it, it’s
Her blood.

Black, Black Hills

Oh black, Black hills above the grass,
rising up like a giant hold-fast.

On your sides heros are carved,
cut by patriotic hearts.

Great stone needles rising high,
futilely reaching for the sky.

Bison graze and great elk roam,
through forest and prairie homes.

In late summer the bikers roar,
and Sturgis opens up its doors.

Deadwood boasts of cowboys great,
Bullock, Hickock, aces’n’eights.

Stunning depths of the wind cave,
where the mountains meet the plains.

Oh black, Black Hills above the grass,
I wander your trails, at long last.

Lost In a Thought

Lost In a Thought

Who am I...a tossed thought left to ramously rot in a sea of insanity?
What am I...a wondering wave a shackled slave a  crumb of humanity?
Where am I... drowning in a whirlpool a salivating drool of organity?
Why am I...amidst the stars with battle scars in a universe of infinity?

Like a restless rust a defenseless dust futilely falling inside my being
A life unjust a windless gust perpetually lost within thoughts of fleeing
A wounded wreck unknown a depleted drone unadorned and unseeing
A cataclysmal clone in this realm I’m thrown my thoughts are bleeding

Watching the hands of time a mindless mime of the words unspoken
I am an endless evolving enzyme in a parasitic paradigm of the broken
Losing grip of reality a frantic flee adrift within the obstreperous ocean
Lost in a lost a condemned cost of evaporating memories of emotion.




Sept.29.2017
Lost
Sponsored by: Debbie Guzzi

A Trite Nihilistic Occasion - Part Two

endowing superlative creature comforts
reduce wretched survivors scant band of bare naked ladies
beastie boys, foo fighters espying counting crows
ready to buzzfeed toe kin *****sapiens 
bereft, expunged, faux invincibility kickstarting 
learning basic survival skills
forced to rescind twenty first century trappings
shifting paradigm sans primacy 
pitting dishabille helpless imps against killers
who do not shrink from ethically principled 

but give full reign to selfish callous deleterious foibles, 
gruesome harmful indiscretions 
sprouting with mushroom rhizome rapidity
ousting the  omnipresently 
(well nigh since time immemorial 
virtues cultivated, futilely integrated, lending oomph 
residentially, scientifically tendering ubiquitous DNA
foisting gabled, heralded, instilled, 

justified kneaded love thy neighbor motto
lyft ting in one fell swoop delicately 
embroidered, finely graven, heavenly ideals
no more patent leather shoes reflecting up
nor doodling Yankee staking claim to fame via feathered cap made of macaroni
thus such jingoistic, holistic, fabric ripped retroactively 
ramping atavistic simian base, 
thus leveling the playing field.

Deserted Fragments

I stand alone pondering my existence,
my mind twisted, lost within my consciousness,
searching for memories soon forgotten.
I wrestle to obtain my own reality,
remembrances far from within my grasp.
Mundane thoughts elude my comprehension,
so minuscule, they transcend my ability to process.
My lapse of perception, the deserted fragments of my life,
queries of justification for my abandoned memories.
Why has this affliction absorbed my yesterdays?
Why does it control my being, my soul,
everything that once was my individuality?
I sit bewildered, my revelations scrolled on parchment,
attempting to preserve my own identity.
I futilely critique each line for my idiosyncrasies,
searching for my existence within my own words.

Time Is

"Time Is…”

Time is the generous giver,

Which got me to thinking of the sea,

Through cosmic ebb and constraining flow,

I grabbed the knob and opened the door,

Opened the door to the remissive sonorous past,

Waves of effervescent ocean foam lapped at my knees,

My ten toes searched futilely-

The well-springs of ten thousand silent creatures;

Harboring my thoughts,

I laid out my strategy to proceed further,

Swim I must,

Through the rushing ripples

Of forgotten past days,

The abject poverty of loss,

A deterrent as it is, will not overcome,

Not overcome the close of stormy day;

The wind knows its dire destinations,

The frequency waves, soul searching,

Through black holes of lengthy duration,

Sought out my silent searching soul, sifting…

Sifting; future man bows his head.

In gratitude the salty waters washed,

Upon the shore, crusting, icing, 

The delicate skin through time,

Through cosmic ebb, and constraining flow,

There, under the stars I waded,

Fell to my knees, like a stone,

As the grains of sand,

Swaddled my outline.

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