Hackneyed Poems | Examples

Lost in Dreams

I know, love, what we're here for
We both are destined to forever
Looks like a hackneyed metaphor 
But one can try to put it better
Mix the reality with dreams
Like, for example, I can do
Not sure though, if I have seen
All dreams, there’s always something new
Missed or forgotten in a hurry 
But as I enter my love’s room
The picture dims, the dream gets blurry
Enhanced into the evening gloom
And I get lost, and strip away 
Back to the real world I know
Outside’s another damp gray day
What is inside, seems hard to show.

AI

Let’s be clear! “AI” is plagiarism -- 
all grammar checkers, any writing aid,
major editing program, can be a form of
plagiarism...laziness at the least in my
humble opinion.  Someone who writes
a biographical outline, a story outline
of any kind, and then hires a ghost writer,
or major team of professional editors, to 
bring about the final, flawless product,
because the original was so sloppy or
hackneyed, is not the writer-originator 
as I see it.  Agreed! There are
no entirely original thoughts, for each of
us stands on the shoulders of the many
tall and talented thinkers, richly endowed
innovators who came before us – what we
owe them, and our chosen craft of relatively Free
Expression, is to try and maintain a posture
pure as possible when attempting to create. 
Approach authorship as a Mystical exercise -- 
As a personal lover.  A rapport with God.

Dont Be So Hasty to Judge

Moth-eaten hag was a big battle-ax biddy
A hackneyed hag who wandered New York City
Grandam of the alley, a smelly aged fish wife
Aren’t you glad you did not have her kind of life?

Don’t be so hasty to judge, said my friend.
She had cats and companions to the very end.
The homeless took care of her, they loved her too.
Who is going to do the boo-hooing for you?

Poetry Time

     Poetry time
     Every line chimes
       Stop on a dime
       A buck for a rhyme

    What’s a meta for 
    Similes are, like, a bore
      A terzanelle’s attractive 
      Tho a villanelle’s more proactive 

    Witches vex trochaic pentameter
    Curse iambic HEXameter
       Traditionalists eschew free verse
       Blank verse is that much worse… 

    Romance, a hackneyed chore
    While humor is adored
       Satire rates high too
       Tear-jerkers ~ boo-hoo

    Poetry time
    Elbow grease and grime
      Lines sparkle and shine
      Craftsmanship sublime

run to fun

My daddy—he once told me
don’t ever play with nuns
they’ll hit you with their rulers
it won’t be any fun

I snuck out of that prison
and now I’m on the run

Once freed from that schoolhouse
I sunbathed in the sun
I stayed out late, I went on dates
looking out for number-one

When I think of what I went through
of all the tired repressive lies
I keep running wise, in slick disguise
my purpose is renewed

Don’t ever let ‘em tell you
you can’t have any fun
If they preach that hackneyed drivel
grab some things and run
.
.
Songs for this:
Cold Heart (PNAU Remix) by Elton John & Dua Lipa
I'm Still Standing by Elton John

Webster: hackneyed = uninteresting, unfun, dull and unoriginal.

*stolen almost directly, in spirit anyway, from that freewheeling rebel, Johnny Cash

**My first 8 years of school were parochial

Carny Day

Its wet and drear in London dear, the pomp in on full trope
Though hope is gone, not dead for Jesus is the only hope!
Its foolish to trust in others; dopes.' In robes and words
In fear and force, its hackneyed ethos, solid dross of course
One hundred mill, so bums can sit.' and ears listen to
Waffle and some titter, and scraps and traps such slippery
Tounges we'll no doubt hear, yet will we sum? A throne of
Gold in a nation sold, to the w e f, just same old same old.'
The crowds are thin, not much the din' dis-enchantment is
Setting in.' geriatrics in phylactics gather and throng how
Can such traversitys continue on? Food in piles is stored
Away, as childen are hungered, its the British way.' Some
Vassels also,  it seems agree although; their people need
To be set free.! Free to thrive to grow and prosper, yet to no
Reason i now return, to the parody of vanitys and a useless
Crown ' thats just the head though, i'll make this clear on
A British day of pomp and drear, might he take a little trip?
Before the throne..As ascends he it.' Twould be indicative of
The wider nation, that needs a real King not this Abberation.'

Always a Friend

Poetry, You are Illumination!

Not the point of descent
but the ascending apex of
God's triangles – you come to
me, a bride...after the dutiful converse, 
you come to me, dear wondrous composition~
wearing your verbal gown of transparent 
white:

Why do I write? And why breathe, make
love? The in and out of creation somehow
such death and resurrection becomes us 
both, the draw of life despite the often
editing crosses – 

We are best when up against the wall...

that writer's block, that impasse, that 
paralysis!~ poetry my sledge and saw,
the reason for eyes and hands, power
to transcend vision into new horizons

however they defame you, my lyrical
rib: abuse you with singsong cords
and hackneyed personifications, even
the erudite who only basically attend

to me you are nearer perfection...

Always, a divine lover and friend!

This Is Who I Am

You will never fit in! is my everyday alarm .
My emotions so hackneyed to that venom
That like water off a duck's back has no effect.
Hide away they tell me, because we cannot bare to look at you

The dark has become my companion, the citadel of refuge to whom I can always flee so that I'm invisible to many.

Wherever I am, I try so much to be the ghost,
Unnoticed and invisible.
Because if I am noticed I know that like a thousand arrows the words will stab me to death
Before I realise it.

They say I love the mirror 
but that is not the case
I am trying to identify, to spot,
To analyze what you say is wrong with me.
What you tease me of!
But sadly I cannot seem to find it
I shall not cease to look in the mirror
Maybe one day I shall see it too
But for now I AM BEAUTIFUL THE WAY I AM.

Fresh Torrent

Cookie cutter words so
carefully cut and pasted
on me are simply wasted.

Their relevance defunct
so silent deaf and mute
someone else’s route.

This romances brevity
couldn’t even warrant
a freshly cut torrent.

Thoughts on you only
today are freshly writ
not from another’s skit.

Your cycle oft repeated
new color same game
please shame and blame.

Faded far from view
a barren desolate land
this love’s final stand.

Pain is public domain
burn your copyright
cliché it into firelight.

Blank page tattered torn
crumpled piss-stained
empty promises drained.

Program pre-recorded
tired hackneyed phrases
sung too long the praises.

“the lady doth protest
too much” said Hamlet
then she knew her fear
just ask Shakespeare.


(click on the pic to buy my poetry book!)

A Hackneyed Love

A hackneyed love,
now I know,
my heart's a treasure,
I say no more.

your eyes on the chequebook
like ice on a cake,
none you give but loads you take,
Dear you made it look grotesque.

act like a fool I did,
to please your evil deeds,
or more like sweating and bleeding,
a prisoner to your biddings.

you could have said at least
that inside you were a beast,
an argument without closed fists
is not a thing on your list.

using torture as a weapon,
to use my heart as a coupon,
because you knew all the loopholes,
to steal my love was your call.

although true love never dies,
this one was killed by your lies,
it's wise to say enough,
a hackneyed love.

Cry of a City

Wake! Kokura to a novel world of peace
Under the canopy of dark divine clouds
A million deaths and a zillion days of sufferings
Ah! Flown to a distant land
While the holy hands patting your shoulders
Away Nagasaki crying,
… a loud ghostly cry..

When the fat boy shed fireballs from above
Flitting shadows unable to find a cwtch
Death solidified, melted to florid streams
On a boundless billowy sea of hellfire.
Murky minds killing unknown souls
Burnt alive was innocent, wicked and wise
On their knees, a nation bend
Away victory cried,
… a loud cheerful cry…

Ah! Know me first before you please
to squander guns, grenades or guillotines
At least the cognizant me die in peace,
And a better predilection for your choicest blessings.
Silent guns are a hackneyed dream
Begging only for a better aim
Away hope loath to stop,
.. a loud wishful cry…


(The plutonium bomb, Fat Boy, was intended to drop on Kokura City, Japan; but the city was saved by heavy clouds. Now, Kokura is considered as the luckiest city.)

Date of Entry : 17-08-2020

Lockdown- 26th Day

No; I'm not unhappy
I never cry on Lockdown system
I'm not crying more now

6pm to 6am
The virus likes to be wanderer
In my city I am happy in pangs

Opening window
Air with daylight comes maybe with nCoV-19
I am not afraid of this

Thirsty throat, hungry belly
Water and food comes maybe with the unseen killer
No I don't care

Hackneyed now the daily news of death is
Joking arrow of blame penetrating jeering hives
Earth loves to degrade herself

I drink air, sunlight, water with unseen hemlock
I eat daily foods with destined poisonous mock
Coz world downing in tragic melodrama Lock


20.04.2020 (Chattogram City)

Note Books Bear Me Up

decrepit note books
Residential society of poems
hackneyed to ultra fresh thought roams

snail pace of expressions
imbalanced love on tattered ink
lines smile on jackal mustache
through the crystal glass the moon kisses

urban dustbin is empty well
ravens fly on the colorful chicks
ground is shattered field of war
dawn cawing reminds the writing decisions

nothing is outcome of the books
three out of five fingers
one chameleon mind
eyesight combats with insightful arena to lit light

just I reside in these posthumously
note books bear me up anonymously



-Wednesday, June 19, 2019 Chattogram

Inside Me You the Soothe Bearer

the cynosure of the crystal night sky,
convergent to your unrivaled beauty
from far on the ground
the beauty I cannot count

I to me- a fresh skeleton of hackneyed ashes
barren field of all love,
grey yard of the cut grains straw
the bitterness of Amarone wine,
sprite of poetry and phantom of prose

see I all yours but in lures,
still seeing I'm,
crying life all to infinity,
decaying with infliction pithy,
you and my love are eternal,
perpetual all fraction in point of gaiety.
warm of heart feeling dazzling the shrine of love,
beneath your caring tears my imperishable entity,
I am seeking you,
horizon after horizon,
my love tours consciously to finding you not as alien,
calls in all of you and your caring

in the pinnacle of desire,
I sow my loving seed,
here every green leaf for you,
every root which you do not see,
where I pour my love philter,
every sough touches your fairness love with the belonging of one,
here every leaf oscillates as a sign of your greetings,
I see all my love into my sphere,
I find my soothe in you, inside me you the soothe bearer 


- Sunday, July 14, 2019 Chattogram

Meekness a Weakness

Meekness a Weakness?
Written: by Miracle Man
7/19/2019

Many have taken advantage,
Of my willingness to assist.
If guilt feelings ever arose,
 They were quickly dismissed.

While their next hackneyed story, 
They were re-engineering.
They saw themselves as shepherds, 
And I, a sheep for shearing.

Others have taken from me,
And often given to a friend.
As I’ve remained closed mouthed,
Not wishing to offend.

Many times I’ve only existed,
When they needed money.
Which has left my day gloomy,
As theirs became sunny.

They always say borrow,
While having no intent to repay.
Some just open their mouth,
And their intentions betray.

The heart God placed in me,
Has been filled with meekness.
And it hurts me to think,
Others view this as a weakness.

“Not everyone will appreciate what you do for them.
You have to figure out who’s worth your kindness
And who’s just taking advantage”
Unknown

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