Short Overused Poems

The most overused word is ( Like) 
Something I really dislike. 
The young generation 
Would lose communication
If it was erased overnight....

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You Know

The words you know are overused—you know
You know, I know this is truly so
Just think of Abe Lincoln
(Let the image sink in)
Four score and seven years ago—you know

1/31/22...

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Acid Metaphoric was overused
Professor Doctor Hubbub was confused
"It might have been stolen
Or it might have swollen"
With tabby cats Professor Hubbub schmoozed












(C) rajat kanti chakrabarty
2014, 3rd December...

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A 'hot-button' topic was 'problematic'
and so in the name of 'equity' and 'incisiveness'
we had a national 'conversation'
however,
we kept using meaningless overused words.

In the end we quite forgot
what the hell we were yacking about....

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spare forgotten, now flat, abused,

                  like some veteran overused

                   in at least two world wars

       whose alleged treads are darkened scars,

            burnt, rubbed off rubber, unamused,

        frayed steel threads, no, I'm not excused....

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Look
I can
Ride my tricycle
On only two wheels

because I have to
till we fix it
and fix it we will
in the poor quarters
downtown

the tricycle
in our midst is
overused and well shared
among many

It's because we care
for each other
and the little things we
do and have matter

that I can ride
my tricycle
on two wheels only....

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Those three magic words bounce around my head
Dancing with thoughts like flames in a furnace
Encapsulating my feelings on these past few months
Emotions running wild, breaking loose of their chains

Three words so simple yet mean so much
So often overused, and so often abused
But not this time, because I mean it
I love you?
No
I give up....

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Overused WORDS by Poets

Poets use certain words a TRITE too much
Roses are red and LUMINOUS and such

Mountains are BREATHTAKING
Oceans are EXHILARATING

ENGAGING conversation is what I enjoy
Creating the MIRACULOUS I also employ

PROFOUND was a Clinton word
With LEGENDARY status he is still heard

Yet, with URGENCY, I complete this poem
So, Violets are blue in Rome...

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Nan wrote many books, none were a hit.
People simply could not relate to any of it.
She has no life, no pets, no mate.
Excessive wordiness is her fate.

No life experience of any kind.
Her prolixity most readers vastly mind.
She knows her words, but no feeling there.
Thrown on a page like she does not care.

Readers like stories they understand.
Despising overused vocabulary words used by Nan....

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She’s as pretty as a picture
And as quiet as a mouse.
He’s as blind as a bat
And as fat as a house.

She’s as stubborn as a mule
And as sly as a fox.
He’s as wise as an owl
And as strong as an ox.

She’s as skinny as a toothpick
And as slow as a snail.
He’s as sharp as a tack
And as large as a whale.

I could keep this up forever
But you know what they say:
Nothing ruins someone’s writing
Like an overused cliché!...

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               ‘Intimate gathering’
                  advertised
               Curiosity piqued...

                  poked my head in
               ~ cozy canoodling  



               __________________
               'Ran it up the flagpole'
               (to see if it would fly)
               was an overused ploy
               from the advertising 
               world of the 1950's 
               and 60's. 
...

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She struggles to get out words 
That never say enough
Not as clear as she hoped
Never conveying 
What she wanted to say

Feelings on paper
She stares
Disappointed
Discouraged
Angry at herself

They are bland,
Stale, overused.
Under baked or overcooked.

She crumples up a page
Begins again
Throwing this clump
Onto the sea of clumps
Around her desk chair

Begins again.
And again.
And again.

Maybe it’s not her day to write....

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She struggles to get out words 
That never say enough
Not as clear as she hoped
Never conveying 
What she wanted to say

Feelings on paper
She stares
Disappointed
Discouraged
Angry at herself

They are bland,
Stale, overused.
Under baked or overcooked.

She crumples up a page
Begins again
Throwing this clump
Onto the sea of clumps
Around her desk chair

Begins again.
And again.
And again.

Maybe it’s not her day to write....

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With all of it's power you would expect it could be seen,

But this is the way it wants to remain the invisable machine.

Some people say its overused, we use it quite alot

But unlimited it still remains from our first day in the cot.



An internal barrier given at the start of life,

Try cut it rip it anything not even with a knife.

So mind this special uplifting word and use it when your low

Cause hope is here forever to grow and grow and grow....

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Hate hangs from me like a disintegrating cloak
It’s sickly oil tendrils trailing from me
It never gives passes
Eloquent in its misuse
Scratching its way through the sheerness. of the
slivers
Feeling so black that blue isn’t quite enough

Love drapes from me like a sculpted marble toga
It’s twirling twines exploding into fluff
It lives in the past and futures
Incoherently overused
It coddles in lessening touches of soft
Feeling the light before it lands...

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