Pointlessly Poems | Examples

Return of the Bird: Grandpa Dairies

The doctor told us,
“He doesn’t have long left to live”.
He could say that again, 
I already know,
So his voice to me is nothing but howling winds. 
Blowing angrily, 
Trying to devour my hopeful, 
‘Maybe-pointlessly-so’ grin. 

But really these are times we thought we’d grieve.

Sitting at the foot of his bed, 
Just staring like this feeling isn’t really grim. 
Everyone’s smiling, 
But we came here thinking he’s probably dead, 
Everyone’s lying, 
Saying we always believed in him. 
These tears were hiding, 
Couldn’t believe it when we saw, 
Just him in the hospital bed, 
With a smile. 
A pointless,
Hopeful, 
Grin.

10-6-2025 Side: B

Sneezing again,
Somewhat lost control over me.
Again.
And now the seasons changed,
Summer’s walking out on me. 
Again.
The nicotine chain, 
Forcing down another twenty.
Again.
Wheezing refrain,
I feel the rain pouring down on me. 
Yet again.
Reminisce again of the roof above, 
Something that once held over me. 
But the sky now drops tears, 
Joyless tears, 
Again.

Love washed over me. 
Again.

Pointlessly in love, 
Your eyes never hold on to me. 
I’m just pointlessly in love, 
Washing my memories with golden relief. 
The gold shines above, 
The sky sing songs bittersweet melodies.
Now,
Again.

Sky Hooks Hang Themselves

Will the sky topple inward
or the hills heap upwards
it I do not make these symbols
upon a snow-white field?

Will a poet turn to stone
before my eyes
or will a jackdaw caw
pointlessly into a gale?

And now the thin thread
thickens
becomes a full gutted snake 
laying across a dusty road

or is it a rope
knotted and curling
as obtuse as any 
imponderable script?

Flowing Downstream Without Levees Or Windbreaks

some poems ask to be naked
they have no use at all
for punctuation
not even for an en dash 
an em dash nor hyphen

they play with a flowing  grammar
that must be read like water
or paddled through on a leaky canoe

the poet can then hide behind
these unchained words
while demanding to be truly heard

while of course
all the suggested literary pauses and in-breaths
can be just a matter of spacing

it is quite a scrabble game
one played with disjointed symbols
on blank tiles
a stylistic approach that can
if done right
be thought of as avant garde
or pointlessly regressive

but 

we all like a nude
a form without garb and baggage
and perhaps some of us wish
wish we could walk on water sometimes

A Foregone Conclusion

Life has surely broken me.
I’ve flunked out at Everything.
Why consider equally
When Options just desert Me?

Too grimed up, I cannot see
A single reason surfacing,
Hiding Places changing,
Constantly and arbitrarily,
Disappoint inevitably.

It only ends up baffle-ing
That the Ones who stuck by Me
Were No One and Nobody.
The Needed ones Abandoned me,
Never even wanted me.

Been let down by EveryOne
And 100% of Practically
All and and Every Single Thing,
Left for dead and wasting
To a husk of Me.

So what's the point,
Quite pointlessly,
When you will only
Start new things?
Old ones failing,
Interest lost and dropping,
Forcing hands repeatedly.

Home to pack a bag and leave,
All doors slammed resoundingly,
Locks all changed and shut to me.
Happy Endings Abruptly.

Don't care what you do to me.
Lost my sensitivity:
Burning hurts so painfully.
Once Angry scars
Protect My Heart
From all Hope,
Now lost to me.

It doesn’t hurt, just disappoints.
I have no mass, I’ve been disjoined,
Won’t shatter when you drop me.

All do eventually;
A mere eventuality,
Forgone Conclusively.

The Local

Stupid Penny toys with her button
Biting her bottom lip, Frowning her brow
Misery pulls at her
Loneliness sucks 
Fill voids with Mall time 
Plastic replete.
Feeling so fulsome; flirting with clothes
Racks upon racks upon shelves upon drawers 
Cover your colours up cleverly hide
Futile fickle figures flickering tinkering 
Gripping and stirring and numbing and dumbing 
Dutifully dip down diving in devilry.
Pens empower punters people pledge revenge
Pondering pointlessly pointing at pendulums
Wasting breath wasting life wasting time
Waste away get wasted get wanted
Get Wankered get wired 
Glitching through roundabouts 
Loopholing widely 
Hold your box tightly its preciousness
Leaks your Lifeline runs swiftly 
Through slackness and slime
It’s dirty It’s soiled now
It’s tainted. It’s gone.

11 February 2023
Acquaintance and Neighborhood
Sotto Poet

A Dog Got Into My Brain

The moon was big and lit-up,
so of course, some local dog
was barking like crazy.

I got up, it was half past the tic of time
and way deeper than any sunken face.

I was a little wasted;
I get mad at such times
when the night cracks open in my head.

Outside, the backyard was fractured by silence
and an unpredictable yammer of sound.

A full-on moonlight had crapped shadows
all over the place.

I yelled pointlessly at the splintered sky
both sky and dog seemed to listen,
then the mutt yanked-up the volume
and really began to howl
I guess it was upset.

Back inside I turned on the laptop
and quietly typed out a lot of
bold, loud expletives -
perhaps considering
it better
not to disturb any more dead-eyed gods.

At the End of the Day

The final score
always left wanting, regretting
much metaphorical bed-wetting.

The cross-over to the beginning
is as swift as molasses.
Mental heels drag,
pointlessly
we ran out of points to make
too soon.

At the very end is the redirect start line -
bang! Go,
not rats racing
just facing up to the concrete
ceilings
we plastered over only yesterday

and yesterday now will always remain
an 'end of the day' question mark,
another part-written poem

we know we will not complete
by the end of this day
or any other.

Seeing a Painful Future

It feels as if I am living in the aftermath. 

When I have not even started on a path. 

Because the statistics tell a truth that makes me go numb. 

I decided to never speak- as my voice will shatter to crumbs. 

I am now waiting patiently to drown. 

When the world hears my name- there is a collective frown. 

Wait! Can you allow me to apologize?

My peers are foraging into a future as sure as the sunrise. 

As my path is certain to shrink-

I am pointlessly staying awake at night to think. 

As if I am not deserving of rest.

As if each day, I am failing a new test. 

I am sorry friends, to force you to feel survivors’ guilt. 

It is not your fault that I have been destined to wilt.

Whipping Post

Whipping post

Didn't  you watch the on coming storm,  alchalic words ! blew
Dry into my wired mouth , the art of conversation is stilled, while
Your streets soon boiled in fury  , watched by A Queen in her linen and volts
A Doppler Queen, who feasted on broken wombs, swilled down,
Eased in its swallow, phlegm tears of the poor, street dogs
Tired eyes decades in the ruining, dripped like damp ochre leaves
Metal, stone, burned, smelt like flesh off the bone, her veil held dignity
Washed in a puss of lies, psalms hidden, in heavy false books.


And I watch through tired eyes of decades,
the crinkle cut ochre leaves parachuting gently
and with no choice to ground.
The tree has become seasoned and not opaque anymore, 
in a light breeze its finger like twigs snap open the clear view beyond
And, i wonder, how many leaves have fallen pointlessly from my tree
Clearly the amount of leaves left swaying on my branches are foremost
In my waking dreams, thoughts, my roots still, and firmly covered.

Abreast

to many men
too many men
don't look a 
woman in
her eyes
instead
speak
to

what they think
make her her
perhaps not
noticing 
that she
already
is not
even

paying attention
intentionally
looking for
someone
who will
talk 
face
to face

but the fixation
relationship
of the pair
takes him
to the
point
of
pointlessly

spilling
his drink
on her
blouse
then in
intended
apology he
asks if he can

wipe up his mess
with napkin in
hand but she
takes out her
padding and
squeezes
them out
and puts

them
back in
to make
them their
original size
once again to
find the eyes of
another ogling man

A Longing To Be

Lurking beneath beds older then the rags of history
A smile buried beneath bridges where sunshine makes rainbows
And somewhere deep is a chaos is the truth pointlessly burried over and again with reakless intensity 
A frightening spectle of endless new acts of forgetting 
An impossible tomb set up to play funearal games
A sad singing 
Warped longing to continue 
A continuos replication of emptiness 
Becoming that which cannot be 
swallowing an army of poisoned swords 
Dancing to the music of a pindrop 
A scream
New birth sleeping through time in dying arms
Still desperately trying to pretend
A stranger stranded in a perpetual strangeness 
Caught in the act of a heartbeat thats blood is the unfolding of endless life
Naked in space the unbearable unclothed mystery for the moment becomes the cause of a mad celebration 
A festival of breath 
A slaughter of seconds 
Riding the disease ill go out ing

Unexpected Casualty

Thud, skid, shriek... bash!
Subject to a crash,
From audience to casualty,
Paying a futile penalty,  

This unexpected political revolt,
Instantaneously uprises the search for whom to fault,
Alerting of authorities and people through news,
Help on its way as chaos builds-up and fear brews,

Shock and panic spreads, time becomes endless,
Dialling with not answer, agitated and relentless,
The seconds stretch out, unbearably grasping the phone,
Engulfed in sheer isolating fear- on the edge of the unknown,

Reality begins to turn gory and glim,
In an instant from civilian to victim,
Wishing you had stayed home instead,
As you're filtered from those that lay dead,

Contemplating distraught, confusion and regret,
This pain, shock and fear- you will never forget,
As you shed your first post-traumatic cry,
They say you're 'lucky' you didn't die,

Still amidst the debris several phones ring continuously, 
Police scurry, pulling back family members searching hopelessly,
Behind the line hysterical fathers, wives, siblings... awaiting,
Whilst most mourn, pointlessly politicians are left debating...

Oxymoronic

Marooned on an island where the sun never sets
Where the sky's always tinged a certain hue
We'll party along with all the other guests
Our mood will be a brashly-subtle reddest blue

We'll be free to run slowly through our waking sleep
Pushing through that pleasurable pain
Tell each other stories filled with honest lies
And then tell them for the first time, once again

We could sit around the fire eating jumbo shrimp
We'll declare that they're disgustingly delicious
Pretend they're awfully good when cooked under wet flames
While admitting that they're pointlessly nutritious

And our troubles would be few, growing smaller every day
Though the deafening silence could be bitter sweet
If we're found to be missing, our hope could soar like lead balloons
As even-odds, they'll send a rescue fleet

The open secret will always be, that we wanted to remain
That our leaving there was filled with such sweet sorrow
They'll be right and they'll be wrong, for we truly understand
There are wise fools and ordered chaos each tomorrow

The Face of Insanity

Take a second
Take a seat
Take a breath 
And if you'd please
Take some notes
And take from these
Words the lessons
That shaped the man
Behind the face that you see
As I try to shed a flooded light
On just what going nuts is like
Look up in the sky and see the stars
Where all I see is emptiness and bars
That like a prison from afar
Keep my dreams inside a jar
Like fireflies that are as bright
As they are hopeless in their fight
Against the darkness of the night
Look into these eyes and see the start
Where I began to fall apart
And through my pupils view a heart
That is running slowly out of beats
As fast as it is being newly scarred
By the decisions of a brain
That for so long has tried so hard
So pointlessly to mask insanity
As a consequence of being smart

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