Poems and Poetry

meaningless life poems

The Easy Choice | A Poem by Loneven

What you see is what I allow you to see.
A carefully curated existence.
One that is deceitfully relatable and yet always just out of reach.
You know it. Deep down you know it.
But you ignore it. You choose to ignore what is under the surface.
Ironically, it is the superficial and that draws you in.
What you see is a moment.
Sometimes, as a consequence of its meaninglessness, even less than a moment.
You know there was before. You know there is after.
But you don’t care, do you?
You know the horror of the before.
You know the beauty and bliss of the before.
You know the dread and despair of tomorrow.
You know the promise and hope of tomorrow.
But you don’t care, do you?
You choose instead to lose yourself in the fleeting orgasm of the carefully curated, still I peddle your starved consciousness day in, day out.
I wonder then, between you and me, who is doomed?

Man of the Suburbs | A Poem by Ian Fletcher

For better or for worse
like most of us I suppose
he considers himself to be
the center of the universe.
Yes, with his wife and kids
steady job, detached house
and paid-up pension scheme,
everything’s absolutely fine
in his trivial suburban life
all going to plan we can see
from what he posts online.
He worships no deity
fears no kingdom come
and seems quite serene
when all is said and done
living in the here and now
his comfortable existence
sufficing for immortality.
Yet, one day this smug man
too will succumb to time
and though a few might weep
perfunctory tears for a while
at the well-attended funeral
in a generation not a soul
will remember he has gone.
Then, his only trace may be
the frozen Facebook page
on some forgotten database
where his final profile pic
will grin inanely on and on.

Deflation | A Poem by JD DeHart

I began by floating
above the dull earth, but
soon found that my ascent
was moving in the opposite
direction. A few words later,
an insult here or there,
placed like a hidden blade,
and I was finding my way
quickly to the terrestrial
realm from which I rose.
The neighbors were the same,
and their cooking smelled
somehow worse.
Their children still crowded
the streets like homeless
Now I am merely a heap,
a might-have-been soon
to become a must-have-been
and then a who-was-that.

Stop Me If You’ve Heard This… | A Poem by Stan Morrison

Please feel free to don’t hesitate to
I’d be more than happy no problem
awesome unbelievable have a nice
the last four digits this call may be
your wait time is if you act now
limited time side effects include
revolutionary important message
sources close great breakthrough
comparable value actual savings
you’ve been pre-approved
just ask your own doctor if
results may vary not typical
…. never mind.