Long Unmotivated Poems
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I see the students of OLSH College, whispering and wondering
Some look lifeless, drained dry of will
Some looked scared, struggling still
I see them travel from grass to concrete
Daring not to cross the street
I see the leaves, the trash, the dirt
Feeling unwanted, discarded and hurt
I see a magpie, flying so free
At OLSH College, I see
I hear the bustling of OLSH College, trying to wrap up the day,
The scraping of chairs, the screeching of doors and footsteps of students who stray
I hear the wind whooshing past my ear
The magpie cawing, brazen, without fear
I hear pencils cry as they slave away
Sharpeners scream as they are forced to slay
Yet I hear the laughter of happy students
Bribed with games and chocolate presents
Satisfied and satiated, I listen as they cheer
At OLSH College, I hear
I smell the odour of OLSH College, sweat slipping slowly under the sweltering summer sun
Perfume masked the onion-like smell with flowers and freshness in one
But nothing beats the intoxicatingly tangy lemon tree
And the pleasant sweetness of the Azalea Charlie
And yet I am lulled into the canteen
Of chocolates treats sickeningly sweet
My nose leads me to the scent as I beg my stomach to quell
At OLSH College, I smell
I feel the bricks of OLSH College, each with its own story to tell
Hard and brittle the bricks are underneath
The peeling white paint that hides beneath
The dreary posters smooth to the touch
Of plastic and paper rough
But just outside the cool windowpanes
Wet, little droplets race down as it rains
Swift glances at those blotches I steal
At OLSH College, I feel
I taste the bitterness of OLSH College, of teachers and students alike
Unmotivated girls, not ready for the world
Eating their lunches with delight
It seemed the bribes they had been given
Of sticky gummies red and blue
Had not changed their minds, to gossip they were smitten
Oh, teachers don’t you wish they were chewing glue!
Yet I am putrid green, brimmed with envy
My stomach has gone on a one-month vacation
I wish I were a magpie, eating for free
I would take left and right at slightest invitation
Dear Ramadan, please make haste
At OLSH College, I taste
The past is a thought.
The coastal fishing town in Peru was charming
its upland was bare and light brown, with roads
looking like scars caused by a triple Bye-Pass.
The sky was enormous, the biggest ever seen
but was unmotivated, not a cloud around.
Teresa is a short, lovely woman in well-filled jeans.
Ah, jeans, one wishes for the skirt’s reappearance.
We hired a car and drove up the bare hills.
The driest of landscapes weighted down by dust
Tiny villages, four houses and a cantina, not a place
for the young, Lima was their dream.
At the top of a hill, we stopped, and afar the Pacific
glittering green living up to its name.
We were in love, the transient kind disappearing
in the morning light; told each other lies and enjoyed
the sweetness of dreams.
We drove back before darkness, the road narrow.
Teresa worked at night, with many trawlers docking.
A stolen moment by two people whose youth had
passed us by, but we remember how sweet it was.
They wonder what is going on
with all our men today,
why they seem unmotivated
and resigned to their fate,
what happened to the people who
stormed bloody Normandy,
that type of guy we never really see.
I think we must remember that
men all those years ago
never did have to question
that goodness they should know.
they grew up on the westerns,
strong men in hats of white,
constantly feeding the hero inside.
Now it is ‘sensitivity’
that dominates our world,
boys in school are drugged because
they are not little girls,
all of that male energy
treated like a curse,
and as they grow it only gets much worse.
Our teachers call us toxic,
say we love to rape,
most of us would kill ourselves
rather than violate,
told that we are guilty
if a woman does accuse,
pilloried all over the evening news.
If we get no due process
and are cursed as thugs,
there comes a point when even we
have put up with too much.
The men who could beat the world
all simply walk away,
a rigged game is one you shouldn’t play.
If you want to reverse this
then proclaim loud the truth,
recognize the differences
in boys, starting at youth.
Take that aggressive impulse
and put it to some good,
give them a fair shake like fair folks should.
Because if they have no heroes,
no path to see them through,
then all that masculinity
will boomerang on you,
forget the demonization,
instead please help them find
a way to feed the great hero inside
The day’s been impressively amazing
Because everything was entertaining
Birds sang sweetly in shrubs like Hellen
On blossoms lots of bees sought pollen
Bumblebees have been busy like a hussy
Feeling how the day has been shambolic
Because on the path, I heard a heavy truck
That was rolling on the street slowly
Back to the hive, I was very exhausted
In the way that I was unmotivated
Today has been restless and now
Miserable I feel for a quiet morrow
That fetches a sweet day full of hurdles
Thus, we will be cagily flying like turtles
That have no return hope but always dare
And that also I take up is neither truly fair
Life’s honeyed but it’s difficult full at lair
We bear its cynicism to alteration pronto
Sweetness to arise soon we dream on Pluto
Making the itches of bees turn into softness
Poem by Mugisho N Theophile
You wanted me not to bother you too much.
Life will pass by at its speed, eventually
But, I saw life stuck somewhere
I tried to forget and forgive and carry on
My lingering journey with lines of poems
And, I saw, life stuck somewhere
As, I bled through my emotions,
Helpless and unwanted
Or,
Puzzled and confused.
Both led to a journey somewhere, in the end.
I saw you, helpless and unmotivated too
You were there, yet you were not there anymore
Not with your spiritual soul, mindfully.
Busy with an almost conscious moment
Captured in a selfie, not sure why.
And I kissed the darkness goodbye for the time being
For, I needed to make you free before the canvas of the eastern sky.
Being used…feeling helpless.
Being fake …feeling inadequate.
Being fat…feeling unmotivated.
Feeling letdown… being misunderstood.
Being taunted…feeling angry.
Being anorexic… feeling worthless.
Being gay…feeling emotions.
Feeling useless…being ignored.
Being alone…feeling neglected.
Being laughed at… feeling frustrated.
Being quiet…feeling small.
Feeling useless… being untrusted.
Being ugly…feeling separate.
Being abused…feeling challenged.
Being addicted…feeling worthless.
Feeling confused…being cold.
Being coloured…feeling different.
Being empty…feeling dejected.
Being unemotional…feeling hollow.
Feeling unfulfilled… being common.
Being sick…feeling magnified.
Being hungry….feeling urgent.
(Waterfall mountain means huge amounts of emotions in a mighty deep poem)
Oh no...
Those harmful hormones
You know...
I am a trash bag of bones
I will love you
Till the end of tickin time
Our time so true
Is kinda oh so sublime
Cheek to cheek, we are dancing on fleek
I am the nerd geek, seeking fame and fortune on the peak
Screaming aloud in joy
I have been a beaten-up toy
Say after me - you will be happy
Positivity, like a door, requires a key
Our hopes melt like ice-cubes is the sun
Our anxieties weigh a couple of tons
Cleaning up the remains of our past mess
Feeling empty due to the lack of happiness
I want to let go of my distress
But, how, when I am not making any progress?
I lost my mind of being left behind...
There's no words that I can find
On your tongue that are of encouragement...
All you do is bring us down in discouragement
My life has no significance to you at all
I'm left to be an unanswered call
I see you in agony and it gets me feeling it too
Dampened by darkness and distress...isolated in my own home, if only you knew
This is what I feel...not of your concerning appeal -
Empty, lost and alone in a mess that I don't take part in through thick and thin
Yes, what I feel is a big deal...a truth I can't conceal
Envy, lazy and unmotivated has shaped me into this remorseful monster from within
I must move on from this spot where I rot
Moving forward will be hard...no one ever said it was easy in the first place
I catch a glimpse of you, running a sweat...climbing up the mountain of your waterfall tears and childish fears that you've bottled up inside - you're facing them in a fearless way that's motivating you to run the extra mile...as if you built up the strength for this challenging moment in time...all for the prize of vast grace
Our pathways haven't met...our personal confrontations are almost fought, but I see we are both downtraught and fatigued due to the worrying and doubt that is wasting away our valuable time that was supposed to be spent together...apparently, we are sidetracked by doubt and disarray - all for naught? Give it all you got
The sun rose on what later became known as his darkest night. The effort was thoughtless and unmotivated. The broom bristles flexed and backlashed the many aged crumbs toward the center of the kitchen into a pile several crumbs deep at its highest point. A cabinet door hinge squeaked resistively revealing the inner contents. Glowing as if backlit by the softest most romantic light was an heirloom of unrivaled utility—the grand patriarch’s dustpan. Unspoken triumphs of unsung heroes could be read in the patina of dust and sweat and grime and the love of generations. Today he joined the lineage, performing an action conducted for its own sake.
Unmotivated Able Bodied Men
By:Tom Wright
7/23/2019
Many young men are poor because of poor choices,
They’re Government puppets with muffled voices.
Most lack motivation and therefore see little hope,
While grasping the knot tied at the end of their rope.
But people by nature are just drawn to free stuff,
Willing to go through life, having just enough.
Because no work effort was never displayed,
For anything to be free, someone else has paid.
Some like sleeping late taking things with ease,
Like mice constantly seeking a bite of my cheese.
They canvass my neighborhood with a lame excuse,
Hoping to find someone who’s a mental recluse.
They don’t seek full time work just another handout,
And ring my door bell seeking a weekly bailout.
For most seem allergic to working a five day week,
And appear almost weekly trying a new technique.
They always shake my hand before saying good-by,
And think there’s one day a week, if you sweat you’ll die.
So not knowing which day, why take that chance,
And all they got was to practice, a new song and dance.
It wears on you
hot summer heat
still hot at nine PM
just want to stay inside
a hundred and three, a hundred and five
feels like blazes
Lord Almighty how I love the ac
too old to do without it now
actually am drinking water
in excessive heat it quenches that dry thirst
do everything in the morning, early morning
by nine AM before the sun burns hard and savage
Just want to sit in the dark and enjoy cool air
go outside and the summer heat will melt you
like being in a daze, sleepy, unmotivated
day dreaming of blizzards and Canadian arctic blasts
those cozy freezing frost biting winter winds
how you miss them in the hot summer heat
Hot and worn out, wet from sweat
let the shower run cold for fifteen minutes
before you step in, so hot the water in the pipes
way to warm, takes time to turn cold
let the cool water run over your head soaking your hair
onto your face and be absorb by your overheated body
And it is only nine thirty AM
going to be another cruel long hot day in the summer.