Long Procrastinators Poems
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Sweet opportunity is sometimes lost
when placed too nonchalantly on a list,
and somehow off that list it just gets crossed!
How sad to realize the good you’ve missed!
Great chances must be grabbed! They rarely wait.
Sweet opportunity is sometimes lost.
The wise man takes each chance that comes his way.
Procrastinators see their chance get tossed!
Some stick with what they know, but at what cost?
Suppose new treatments could postpone your death.
Sweet opportunity is sometimes lost.
Regret could haunt you to your dying breath.
An island holiday you do not take
when it is offered. So you wake to frost
outside your window on your late fall break.
Sweet opportunity is sometimes lost!
Oct. 29, 2016 for the Opportunity Contest of Nayda Ivette Negron
I am Time,
I do not know
Where I’ve come from
Nor do I know whither I am going
I only know that I started in the past
And am going to the future
I can’t stop myself even
If poets mistakenly say I stand still sometimes
If I stand still, I’ll cause chaos
If I move back I’ll kill people
Or bring the dead back to life
And undo things both good and bad
My only option is to move forward
Like an arrow from a bow,
A bullet from a barrel or
Like the spoken word that
Cannot be taken back.
People talk of Time travel
I grin and keep my peace
When I cannot travel back
How can they?
Advocateurs say I heal
Yes, I heal, but I also kill
As I pass, I transform infants into young
And young into old, and old into the dead
That’s the only way I know
The old must yield place to the new
That is the law of life
I have no memory of my own
Only people have a memory of me
People ask me what is my age
Physicists say I was born 14 billion years ago
Though I can't recall my birth
I am too old by earthly standards
But do I have a death? I do not know
If I’ve lived a long, long life
There must be something in me
That defies death
Because the universe is there I am there
If the universe ceases to exist, I will too
I have no purpose of my own
My purpose is linked to people’s purpose
In life;
You wonder where I live
I exist in your active mind
If you die, I exit
I have no use for the dead
The dead have no use of me
The living waste me like
Water running down the drain
I am an entity that defies
Definition
I am a concept imagined
By people who are industrious
The lazy and the procrastinators
Do not understand my value
I am different things
to different people
I am Time.
Chocolates, hearts and flowers are ubiquitous in the markets or stores
It is like a frenzy storm, like heavy raindrops rushing through the gutters
I am told at the big mall, it’s like Christmas Eve, where procrastinators
Are buying boxes of chocolate, flowers, candies of all kinds and colors
Candles, jewelries, intimate pajamas, and sexy accessories for loved ones
Wow! Love must really be in the air or something different is quaffing
The oxygen, which is necessary and essential for our survivals. Something
Is in the fresh air, where the moon is full and craziness makes no sense
In this fascinating world, where babies are slaughtered and innocent victims
Are cursed, beaten, jailed and killed: I ponder and wonder. They don’t care
It’s is a show of tradition, not a show of unconditional love. I cannot bare
Not to say anything about what I’m witnessing and living. Bad dreams
Endure; they don’t last. Nightmares see the devil in the dark in your bedroom
I guess, hope and pray that Saint Valentine can improve the current events
Yet, I am afraid of the hypocrisy, which behaves like evil rats and pesky ants
Yes, I am confused, shocked and bewildered by so much extravagance for only one day
I write and pray that true love rains and reigns, and tolerance shines on Valentine’s day.
Copyright © February 13, 2025, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
MY EXPERTISE – PROCRASTINATION
Shall I or shan’t I?
Will I or won’t I?
Could I or couldn’t I?
Should I or shouldn’t I?
Why can I never make up my mind?
Shall I veer left,
Or shall I veer right?
Or should I go straight?
I suppose I just might.
I’ve never been able to make up my mind.
You can’t rush decisions,
You must think upon
Every possible angle,
Each pro and each con.
That’s why I struggle to make up my mind.
There’s only one way to sort this out.
I’ll toss a coin high in the air.
It’s come down heads, that decides it.
Thank you waiter, I’ll have my steak rare
Who said I can never make up my mind?
Footnote – I thought of joining
The Procrastinators’ Club
But I never got round to it
28th March 2023
Expertise in Verse Contest
Sponsor - Jaymee Thomas
O' cloned creations,
mirroring deceptive diction
scattered in liquified letters,
across android canvases,
here comes the plague of
fabricated foolery,
spiraling in figments of
black and white illusions,
injecting illusive veins
screaming for vanity,
with verses plagiarized
from villainous valleys.
There’s nothing poetic about
the way AI is pickpocketing
rhythmic runes from the
museum of dead poets ~
immortalized on the walls
of glass galleries.
Their sonnets, now imitated,
to adorn artless skies
with stolen synonyms,
weaving soulless symphonies,
to please the apocalyptic algorithm,
unaware of how filtered
procrastinators preying
on pencil-streaked pages
are lonely earthlings starving
for superficial accolades.
I care not for the futuristic
benefits of artificial lies,
yet I see no escape from
these alienated alliterations,
and personified
pathological hypocrisy,
typed behind silver screens,
multiplying metaphors
into robotic ruins,
flowing with
perfectly metered clichés,
coded in complex cadence.
So let me find the inked corpse
of silicon silhouettes,
lost in the labyrinth
of virtual vultures,
flaunting repetitive rhymes
for clueless readers.
Tonight the strawberry moon
frowns at the
neon frequencies
of digitalized fakery,
and my onyx heart aches
for the unknown realms,
where originality floats
as a forgotten fantasy,
fogged behind a fictional facade,
while in silence, stained stars
claim phrases snatched
from the
thesaurus of thieves.
So flee from this venom-less virus,
you and I know better than to
lean on spineless cyborgs,
created mindlessly
from financial felonies.
A poet with a pen that
lacks authentic pigment
is the victimized alter ego of
designed trickeries~
masked as midnight musings.
There’s an old joke, “Procrastinate now, because
the sooner you fall behind, the longer you’ll have to catch up.”
Ha ha.
While a lot of students around here, even the good ones,
are procrastinators, I’m a diagnosed pre-crastinator.
I obsess over syllabuses and start things immediately.
I've got rough drafts of things due three months from now.
I’m a planner. Leisure time makes me itch.
I say that to say this, I’m reaping my rewards.
There’s a palpable layer of fret in the air.
Everyone's (the seniors) talking about their theses,
and how they need to start it—first thing yesterday.
I just listen, playing Flappy Bird on my phone, because I’m done.
When my professor handed my thesis paper back the other day,
he said, “This is good.” At first, I was delighted, quietly rocking it inside.
Then I floundered, becoming somewhat indignant. Why’d he sound surprised? Because I handed it in a little (80 days) early?
But soon enough, I was back to happiness.
I’ll have to defend it one day, but I’ll go first, wait and see.
Shall we wax poetic?
I’m like the sea, always restless
and I enjoy the flavor of honest effort.
I dub snark, and the little, jealous glances,
I blunt them with chey smiles, while thinking,
I’ll row my boat, and you row yours—just a little slower.’
Let them whisper me freakish
though I win a thousand crowns,
the real pleasure lies in my gun slinger’s sang-froid,
to finish the commission first and be the best.
.
.
Songs for this:
Let Me Down Easy by Gang of Youths
Let Me Go by CAKE
Looking outward.
She’s had a hard life, yet can still laugh and smile,
making it look effortless and genuine.
Looking bubbly and youthful, glowing from happiness
like she knows no other way to live.
I’d like to understand -- I really would.
She’s more than a survivor -- she’s a champ.
Looking within.
I have finally earned my bit of comfort.
I should feel light and worry-free.
I should be blissfully happy.
I should look at who I’ve let within my circle.
The negatives who've dragged me down:
the procrastinators, whiners, drama queens and naysayers.
I so need to unclutter and make room
for daydreaming soulseekers and inspiring artists.
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Too Much Technology,
Yet not enough Ecology.
Too much Talking,
And not enough conversation.
Too much planning,
Yet not enough doing.
Too much planting,
And not enough food.
Too many cars,
Yet not enough people.
Too much production,
And not enough consumption.
Too low prices,
Yet not enough quality.
Too much competition,
And not enough co-operation.
Too much of everything,
Yet not enough of anything.
Too much dope,
And not enough hope.
Yet we have had enough reverses,
To know there are enough possibilities,
To negate the oversupply of Procrastinators,
While we still have enough faith in our innovators.
A Procrastinators Day
by Robert (Bob) Moore
So now it takes me twice as long, to do half of what I did
the joints will creak, and muscles ache, not kidding you our kid
when I get up in’t morning, and see what must be done
gotta tell you here and now, I wish I could still run
A bit of this, a bit of that, the washing to hang out
my backs already aching, and so far I’ve done nowt
maybe first a cuppa tea, and a bit of jam on toast
hanging out should not take long, ‘arf an ‘our at most
Now it’s gone ten thirty, what else has to be done
soon be time for a cuppa tea, and a bit of Chelsea Bun
then maybe read the paper, that will take an‘ our or two
then maybe after dinner, I’ll decide what’s next to do
It’s now about one-thirty, and dinners almost done
just got to give the plate a scrub, have a bit more of that bun
maybe just a cuppa, to help the bun go down
and then I’ll get that washin’ in, the clouds are hangin’ roun’
Almost three-o-clock now, Coronation Street is on
I might just sit and watch it, don’t know where the day has gone
and now it’s nearly five-o-clock, better think about my tea
for tomorrow is another day, another busy one for me
Turtle Time
Ever wonder what they think?
You know, the turtles.
The throwbacks, the procrastinators,
“Land—water—both?”
The first houseboats,
heads sitting on the bow
guiding the cumbersome craft,
stalking the unsuspecting
in slow-mo silence.
Mud slide building
sun worshippers
living life in the slow lane.
Old folk
at warm water beaches
reminiscing,
long swims, ocean currents,
mounded sand,
moonlight rendezvous.
Solitary creatures,
hard shelled
evolutionary slowpokes.
Ever wonder what they think
as generations pass?
John G. Lawless
7/15/2014
contest – Hard Shells – turtle inspired free verse
sponsor – Cyndi MacMillan