Often words can be so tedious
They run around me
Screaming and yelling
Clinging to my skirt
My head carelessly
Blowing a thousand voices
In a kaleidoscope of sounds
While others wait
In a silent herd.
With no other ambition
Receiving affection
Written: January 14, 2023
I am still a child
The world is yet undefined
Life sometimes feels tedious
Then I look at you
Are you any better than me?
Do you hold the answers I seek?
Do you hold the answers you seek?
Because if we are both like me
Honey, aren't we broken?
I want to hold onto you
If only to chase some idea that I hope to be true
Or because of a past I remember
Even if I am bit down
Even if I am tired
Even if I am worn out
See, I am trying to learn
You frighten me at times
I can't see you trying
So often I see you resigning
I believe if I quit it will be the end of us
Tedious season
This spiky summer is ready to leave slowly
for the snow-covered mountain retreat.
It has to adorn its weird clothes with maples
and cross the chilly river on the way.
I wish the stream is many fathoms deep
and to meet the following easier summer.
As I stood chest deep in my waders
On the river's edge, I fish
I cast my line with perfection into the holes of glory
The holes that bear the mighty rainbow's
Cast after cast...I await the stoppage of my float
Any false movement in it's flow is a hungry fish; usually
My professionalism and experience tend to pay off...
Except, this one embarrasing time
A time when the sun's glare blinded my vision
Blinded it so white...
So white that I cast my line without sight
With the flip of my wrist, and I crowd of watcher's...
I fight a tedious battle with a tree
Accidentally, I cast my line 'round it's branch
Laughter- speaks out from the eye-watcher's
Watching me whipping my rod from left to right and up and down...
I continue to fight the mighty branch; in disgust
Finally, after ten long annoying minutes...
The battle was over...
The branch cracked, I defeated the tree
I retrieved my float...
And I continued to impress the eye-watcher's
What about Monday?
Not this week?
Tuesday and Wednesday might work.
Tuesday at 4, but you have to be back by 4:30.
Sure. Shopping always takes me less than 30 minutes
Not counting drive time.
Thursday? No. She has track.
What about Jeremiah? He cannot be first.
Oh, yes, we promised her first dibs.
What about today? I text back. “This afternoon.”
“I will get right back to you,” she says.
Text is so much more irritating than a simple phone call.
Think Work Was Tedious
Politicians think their work is tedious,
And face looks are becoming hideous,
Not knowing next what we will receive,
Proper place for ourselves to relieve,
No wonder we are highly suspicious.
While we were suspicious could
also become capricious.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
I think I’ll write a triolet
With tedious repeated lines
Can’t think of unique words today
I think I’ll write a triolet
I find them banal anyway
To me their formation confines
I think I’ll write a triolet
With tedious repeated lines
3rd June 2016
I used to be a zippo
with a wondrous flame,
mesmerizing many men
mending my path to fame.
But with every flip and every trick
my liquid flame trickled slowly away.
Hinges would break with every shake,
day and day after day.
Now my own precious fluid
is nearly depleted.
Feeling less and less lucid,
more and more often I'm seated.
My hinges have broken,
leaving so many words unspoken,
for the will to speak them is gone.
Now I remember
that upon my birth
was given to me,
a lifetime warranty.
I can replace
my current disgrace
with elegant grace,
but that would not be me.
I gaze at the stars
into the dead trenches of mars,
where life used to be.
And I see
the beauty
in death.
I look at my scars
and relive their stories.
I laugh at my reactions to the pain
I thought was so intense,
until I felt the next,
laughing that I was far from slain.
For even though I'm broken
and my fluid is gone,
the memory of my flame
shall burn on and on.
SANK---SHOE----ARY
One evening I sank into a sanctuary
I wasn't lonely although i was alone
I once visited a maudlin mortuary
and it made me wish i were nothing but bone
no flesh to sweat nor tears to shed
just my body in a coffin forged of brass
i'm not certain why I had a wish to be dead
perhaps I was tired of walking upon broken glass
in that mortuary all was quiet and still
no shouts from the masses religion quells
I was growing weary of always walking uphill
and wished to silence some noisy church bells
next to the mortuary stood a church philled with phools they be
in rapt attention the congregation listened as the pious priest spoke
while in the very last row of pews sat a silent me
it was my sole desire to separate myself from those kind of folk
i would not nor dare open a hymnal to sing
and to this day I remain ever contrary
i break commandments to which the phoolish cling
so I raced back to the sanctity of that sanctuary
(c) 2011....Poefree
Not a tedious night in December,
our kisses, like fire, burn forever;
there may be no stars,
no warm, scented breezes...
only the whitest snowflakes
falling before our erotic eyes.
Underneath these transparent sheets,
silence can hear our fast heartbeats;
the window is shut,
but the view is hot
as trees gleam in the thick snow,
and a lonely shallow
stays behind to watch
winter's beauty unfold 'till March.
We consume our desire
with sensual touches;
and as midnight approaches
and the weather gets colder,
we encroach on this bed as the leaves of a vine...
expressing our passionate thoughts
in the loveliness of dim lights around us,
and moaning from pleasure, we scream and entwine.
Not a tedious night in December
as the last bird fills the snowy air with springtime harmony,
nothing could be so joyful and tender;
the streets below are the picture of serenity,
and in this room two lovers explore new ways of ecstasy...
dreaming of more nights that would last forever.
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.