Uselessly Poems | Examples

Three am

I've been awake since three am 
My mind just woke up suddenly 
It circled round and round on things 
Needing attention urgently 

It panicked and catastrophised 
It wandered back in time 
It made a massive grocery list 
And theorised sublime 

I bargained and I threatened it 
Got up and down from bed 
Tossed and turned uselessly 
Now I'm feeling halfway dead 

But I've made a plan this morning 
It's bound to work for sure 
If I can stay awake till midnight 
I'll sleep right through til......*snore *

Ashes of my olive grove

When I was just four,
Baba would walk me through the olive groves,
his land stretching endlessly,
acres of trees—each one a memory,
each one rooted deep in the soil of home.
He’d set up a ladder for me,
let me climb,
picking the dark, ripe olives
from the branches heavy with history.

“Go inside,” he’d say,
“bring a bucket of water.”
I ran, feet light on the earth,
filled the bucket from the well,
its coolness a moment of peace.

But then—
a scream, sharp and raw,
cut through the air.
I rushed outside,
and saw the flames—
huge, fierce,
devouring the olive trees,
the ones Baba had cared for,
the ones my ancestors had planted.

In the distance,
soldiers stood,
their smiles cold,
ruining everything we had known,
burning the heart of our land.

I dropped the bucket.
The water poured uselessly on the ground,
while the fire took what we had left—
our home, our history,
our future,
turned to ash.

Tempest

“Fate whispers to the warrior, ‘You can not withstand the storm.’ The warrior whispers back, ‘I am the storm.'” — Unknown

As dawn fades to a timid light
A tale unfolds on nervous clouds
Hesitant rays of shy sunlight
Breathing through glimpses of quiet

Daring lies fall from raging winds
As dawn fades to a timid light
Revealing grief beyond the pain
Where memories sing uselessly

Graceful wings soar through gentle skies
Erasing fears from vague shadows
As dawn fades to a timid light
Blending dreams who silence the bleak

Haunted thoughts linger in the night
Tortured by yearnings so alive
Melodies risking their splendor
As dawn fades to a timid light

Whisper

The balmy breeze wafted over the prairie,
Where yellow cowslips huddled in patches.
And here and there I heard a whisper echoing:
Love her, love her, love her.

     But she seemed deaf and preferred the wounded wind.
     How easy it was to forget and never recapture
     All my wistful whisper, I would always love you. 
     Those sweet nothings of past affections.

We no longer trudged the path made up for two.
Forgotten were those bygone days
When we believed that thistledown tufts
Were really friendly fairies in disguise.
 
     Thus she escaped my clutches
     And like a unicorn disappearing in an eclipse,
     I headed for a dull and empty living
     Blaming her uselessly for I still loved her.

Weren't we the product of our time?
We slammed the doors of love in our own faces,
Building woeful walls around us
Painting it with a tinge of misunderstanding,
When we could lead such a colorful life,
Giving our hearts a chance,
Laughing at ourselves.....
And sending a whisper,
      a woeful whisper to the moon above. 

Placed First

Brooms

  The brooms march in,
  The brooms march out,
  All the leaves floating about!

  My troop of brooms,
  Keeps the leaves at bay,
  Hope to keep them outside today!

  Tracked holding on to the dogs' side,
  Clutching my trouser leg,
  There are even some in my bed!

  Leaves crinkle under my feet,
  My brooms are losing the battle,
  Back up maps to save the floor!

  They are color coded for each door,
  Still, as I wander about,
  My brooms lean uselessly against the tide!

  My army is not yet overcome,
  The brooms are still,
  Number one!

Silence In My Soul

I was wrong, terribly wrong.
I carried within me
memories of happenings
and rumours of fresh happenings,
that I soon realised
I'll never find peace until
In some profound eternity,
I can silence my soul.
 
Easier said than done.
For the mind continues delving
into the mysterious story of my life.
Grey clouds overhead
race each other, 
threatening thunder.
What strange chemicals do they hide?
I hear the lovely finches twittering.
Are they near extinction?
A hunter's shot: some uselessly die.
I see fields covered with clover.
Do farmers use strange chemicals
to get a better crop?  Do animals
who feed on the harvest
contaminate their innards,
so that we eat polluted food?
 
So my thoughts rumble on, 
despite the silence all around.
Why can't I have silence in my soul?

FICTION

Executive Dysfunction

Everyone in the world is eating breakfast.

Breakfast is a waste of time.

I need more time to toss and turn. 

To lie here, reluctantly. 

Maybe lying here will make me stronger. 

And more able to finish all the things I never got done. 

All those things from yesterday. 

All those plans from my whole life.

Which leads me to this moment. 

Lying uselessly in bed. 

Feeling like prey. 

The pitter patter of the morning causes me to panic. 

Because at any moment now…

She’s going to call me down for breakfast.

A Winter Storm Speaks

I am a furious force
you dare not reckon with when I am at my peak!
Assassin of startled vegetation,
I attack with no mercy or compassion.
Limbs of trees – laden with snowfall that I bring - 
snap off as easily as heads of dolls
in the hands of a psychotic child.
Such is the magnitude of my strength
at the mere exhalation of my frigid blustering breath.

I roar and I rush, and in my path of blinding white,
some on foot have lost their way -
later to be discovered (if found at all)
frozen like human popsicles, some yet to even thaw.

Most vehicles on highways have no chance with me.
Zig-zagging off roads, they land in snowdrifts.
Tires spin uselessly, and for a time,
these machines of great convenience are temporarily doomed
as their occupants shiver from cold and fear.

At my zenith, I howl and I rant relentlessly.
Pray that should you meet me
that you are not too far from any buildings.
Pray too that if you should cross my path
that you will not be stuck upon a mountain.
There is where I reign supreme,
shrouding frozen creeks, pines and rocks of cliffs
with my snowy showy glory.

Dec. 29, 2022
for the "Winter Storm" Poetry Contest of  Kim Rodrigues

I Cannot Touch You

I cannot touch the stars without a distant grace
Distance looms so close its breath fogs up my eyes
Clear glass that dims with passing time until i am only shadows
Without the solid silhouette of long-dead friends
I cannot touch your heart if it is still inside you
Lend me knives so i can caress your chest with venom
Closer still it beckons me until we are no longer two
But one desperate beat uselessly awaiting trial
I cannot touch my skin without wanting to destroy it
The path of vines trailing my arms tells a story of pain
Despite the need for respite i will burn through all the remnants
Until charred bones are all i am caged in the clutching comfort of captivity

A Bare-Knuckle Fight

Politics has always been rough and tumble
  a bare-knuckle fight in a concrete jungle

Those who preach togetherness and unity
  flail their arms at windmills uselessly

Untold Incident

Untold Incident

I arose only because
the sunlight and dew
worked against me,
chilly and unaware
of my being before and now.

my thoughts were so vague,
I sat up wondering, looking,
remembering the incident
clearly, as though it
was happening now.

school was out, I slowly
walked to the bus stop watching
each car pass, each face
going by, never realizing
danger stalked the night.

it was as though the
bushes came alive, grabbing
my throat, pulling me,
smothering, bonded by
his weight.

my eyes saw only darkness,
my body uselessly fought each
move, his hands caressing
roughly, rhythmically
with his threats.

it was no use struggling,
my garments clinging,
torn, stained, and wet
with his gift, left for
the pleasure he stole.

I saw no one leave,
heard no sounds, but
my whimpering and
moaning, and I like
many washed away the
gift. the memory would
last forever.

A Day In Life

Start the day 
Fresh
With energy
With confidence
With hopes
With plans
With dreams 
Full to the brim
So that you don't have any time 
To grumble uselessly 
To evaluate things too strictly
To compare greedily 
Until you confuse yourself
About today, yesterday and tomorrow 
And overlook today 
Which should be the most important day

Lying Is Being Untrue To Oneself

Lies are being often spoken
with a tone that betrays words; 
some don't know how harmful they are,
keeping their silence and carry on
with their careless ways is only creating pain,
not caring for the one who's been broken...
having lost all and feeling bare!

Lying is being untrue to oneself,
it's a consequence of dishonesty, 
it strips one of self-worth immediately,
it's being false-hearted 
and should be considered taboo;
lying is being untrue to oneself
it violates the human value
of morality and sincerity.

Could I ever lie to you darling?
It's a deed that threatens trust,
not being sure to be forgiven,
but be despised and not given
another chance at love and fall apart
engaged by emotions while crying.   
 
Lying is being untrue to oneself,
it's harmful and it can bring death to many
losing their joy over unfaithfulness;
does one realize what makes him transgress?
Lying is being untrue to oneself;
be honest, don't let anyone suffer uselessly.

Echo

Tell me tell me
What do they say about me, what do they whisper, what do they say?
I don’t believe you when you say, “what?” as if you are shrugging off
My questioning, becoming suddenly annoyed.
What do they see about me, what do they notice, what do they see?
Wishing I had a telescope to peer inside their brains, pick out every single fleeting thought 
And consider it Shakespeare.
Tell me tell me
I need to know, I must know, I want to know
But you have become my Echo and I have become Narcissus,
Repeating me forever uselessly,
“No”
“No”
“No”

Off the Hook

A land-line is off its hook,
the dreamless are phoning me.
The line is dead and useless,
my dreams are often troubled by useless things.

Like when I found a kitten in the woods
and it died while I drove to the shelter.
It would have died anyway, just not in the snow,
my intervention was just another path
to its end.
Another voice not sunk enough to be silent.

And now here are my dead friends calling me
from party colored sets,
and I am driving the dead uselessly
across some finish line I can never reach.

I want a turntable, I miss the revolutions,
a label slowly spinning around
at 33 rpm, slow enough to read,
or seen from the bottom of a whisky glass.

An empty line hums on
static or white noise – who can say?
If I could ferry them all over
to where there is shelter I would.

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