It rained.
A long dead dog got wet.
I fell head over heels in love again.
I think I died - thought - thunk.
Hot coffee revived
black no sugar.
Walking now on pins and needles
same ol same ol.
Good to be me and not that guy
without a raincoat.
Listening to Shostakovich.
Do I make myself clear?
Going to the bathroom - I mean toilet.
Have to floss.
Exit.
I have wondered about mundane things
Would they have become spectacular,
Noteworthy, perchance, balls of strings
If given purpose, a splendid piacular?
Not everything is special and/or pristine.
Actually, most things are commonplace
Not everything is a finely-tuned machine
Like the works behind the watch’s face.
So much of life, I think, is run-of-the-mill
Which accounts for same ‘ol, same ‘ol.
I am inclined to believe boredom relates
To an impetus to achieve a desired goal
It’s not good to leave life to the fates.
Written July 17, 2022
"Same ol', same ol'!",
Cries the Sentinel.
"He pits the parties
To perfect His will
In His heavens,
And on His Earth!"
"I trust Him to do the right thing
More than I trust my own judgment."
"Same ol', same ol'!",
Cries the Sentinel.
"Their moral high-rank
Is only a Mirage,
Tricking a thirsty soul
That its way is safe!"
"I trust Him to guide my footsteps
More than I trust my own eyesight."
"Same ol', same ol'!",
Cries the Sentinel.
"His powerful help-
Irrelevant crutches
In their blind pursuit
Of deceitful wages!"
"I trust Him to keep on winning
More than I trust my own profit."
"Same ol', same ol'!",
Cries the Sentinel.
"The Savior loves you-
But there's no such thing
As acceptable sin,
Because it ruins!"
"I will trust Him and His choices
More than I trust my own reason."
"He comes, He comes!",
Cries the Sentinel.
"With Heaven's Armies
And all His holy ones
To keep His promises
For those who trust Him!"
"I trust Him to keep His Word
More than I trust the Meritocracy."
Our elections are
No more than games…The results
Are… “More of the same!”
call again
the "same ol', same ol' " galore
call ignored
It's four in the evening, I'm lying in bed,
yesterdays drinking has rendered me dead
Crawl out my coffin, better slap on some gel
demonic follicles risen from hell.
Use the toilet, hold on tight,
really regretting that curry last night.
Clipping the claws that protrude from my feet,
they contain calcium and not bad to eat.
Put on my briefs, but something feels wrong,
I don't recall ever owning a thong.
Theres a knock at the door, I'm going out with the men,
and tomorrow I'll do it all over again.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.