Short Unproductive Poems

unproductive night
dusty canvas still white…
saddened by his plight




Robb A. Kopp
© Nov.13.2012...

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Happy birthday, Sister Michelle, 
Unproductive is author's head; 
A writer goes through a dry spell, 
Yielding not what is expected. 

Topic: Birthday of Michelle T. Trinidad (March 28)...

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Please don’t whisper Cupid’s brutal name
Salvation’s ghost can’t quell my shame
My heart pushes only blood
Through unproductive mud
Waste festers inside
No trace of pride
Pulses though
Without
You...

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Interacting with shop staff.'
Negating the unproductive auto till'
Encouraging social co-heasion'
Caring for the overall ecology'
Have good numerecy skills
Are out going personalitys
Have a willingness to show compassion'...

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eros
those
who choose
to simplify are the

ones
that don't
understand about
the world's demands

I said 
unto thee
subject positively
words of come with me

seductive
unproductive
laying around seeing
you being is my being...

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Words,
Alas, become neglected,
Fallow and unproductive;
The mind gets tired, 
And so does the emotions,
They torment,
They weaken,
They are sweet yet corrupted,
Words as unclean as syphilis,
As painful as cancer,
As cruel as death that awaits everyone....

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Her bones were
desolate, cold, unfruitful

Her body was
unproductive, despicable, empty,
isolated, untended, unloved, barren

She stood alone under generations of highly motivated producers
Watiting for a moment that never arrived.
Chosen in no way by no one....

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Be not like lazy unproductive people who only depend on easy money for a living. 

'Cause on their deathbed, they'll be asking themselves if what have they accomplished. They could have been better if trey tried to be productive, other than scouring upon other people's litter. 

They are like dirt whose only task is to stick upon someone's fingernails. 

January 23, 2024, PST, SPC 

...

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Blind to reality beyond close surroundings
the servants of focus, no task to assign
agents of creativity align in the shelter of idleness
then grind the stones leading to the top
acting so foolish and unkind to self
condemning an unproductive mind to full blown darkness
with immediate remedy, difficult to find.
There’s hope if this situation is benign
just change all the signs my friend
and for once nurture a vision....

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Right now, I may seem unproductive,
not cooking or cleaning a floor,
not texting, emailing, or calling.
The usual things, I’ll ignore.

Except for soft music, there’s silence.
Eyes close, for I’ve no need to see.
My thoughts of past, present, and future
drift by, my unique tapestry.

My daydreams are fodder for poems,
new plans, and a fresh attitude.
These times I seem lazy and “absent”
create an industrious mood....

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Sometimes in the winter my teeth will chatter
Getting out of bed makes such a clatter
waking up is no fun when all I want is the warmth of my blanket

But, although waking up is never fun
The new day beacons, come, come
Opportunities await
Invigorating is the new day
Swimming, weightlifting, learning new things

If no one got out of bed, what would this world be?
Unproductive, sad, and gloomy
Is that how you want to see our future?...

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determinedly traveling around and around
traveling in a circular motion
doing the same thing daily
enjoying nothing

spinning her wheels
loudly so others can admire
no one does

Using so much energy
showing it proudly
accomplishing nothing new

stuck in a rut, that cycles like a turntable
no one suggests any more
she is determined

traveling no where
seeing the same results
never jumping off her unproductive cycle....

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I've given out my happiness,
Never given a reason to,
from those who are prodigies,
yet they still sole are blue.

Some days are evil,
Dressed in black and grey,
Taking out the anger,
On those who have rotten away.

No longer can I stand for this,
A world so destructive,
So little smiles to forget,
We are so unproductive.

We sit with our tearstained faces,
The color all washed away,
our sadness never leaves us,
All we can do is delay....

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It doesn't matter how so plain
Or rough the crust may be,
The kernel is what truly counts --
The part we cannot see.

A piece of land perceived as good
And ripe for human toil
May yet prove unproductive
Without the proper soil.

Can we appraise the saber
While still within its sheath,
Or comprehend the ocean
Unless we look beneath?

The sights we often fail to see
And thoughtlessly pass by
May yet be those that satisfy
The palate, not the eye....

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A world full of wonder, yet so small
Uncontrollable, inevitable, fantastical
Dashed in a single waking moment
Unanticipated, complicated, dissipated
Close to the heart, a guarded secret
Defensive, sensitive, subjective
Locked away, it dies
Unresponsive, inactive, unproductive
Yet unleashed, it thrives
Progressive, excessive, receptive
The fragility of dreams
Elusive. Impulsive. Creative.




5/18/20 for Silent One’s In the Fragility of Dreams Contest...

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