A Haiku of Torment

I saw her! Laughing!
For just a flicker of time.
My breakfast is cold.

I'M SO OVER WASTING MY LIFE

Instead of sitting around with nothing to do,
I go out to parties weddings and with friends.
I'm tired of sitting around feeling blue,
From now on the blues and bordem are at ends.

"I'm so over eating"

The scout that lives
around the corner
delivered
the cookies,
that timeless
springtime
tradition,
just when the weather
is warm enough
for summer ensembles,
testing my will to
reduce
the tummy bulge
that has been a fashion statement
all winter.
Chocolate thin mints
broke my will,
so did lemon creams
and those peanut butter somethings.
After that momentary weakness,
the boxes are empty
and I am so over eating.

The Awakening
(for Sean Bell)
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Hold up, gotta reload

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44
45
46
47
48
49
50
bullets
1 body
and no justice.

I don't yet know
how I will fight
but
I'm so over
being polite.

I’m So Over Sammy the Snake

We’ve been looking for the rascal
Three whole days
I can assure you
Sleep has not been the same

My husband wants to know where
I think he went
I say
“He’s probably waiting in the bed”

I'm So Over Puppy-Dog Eyes

Yes, I'll get your breakfast, and let you outside.
Good morning to you too; do you know how early it is?
No, I don't care that your long black tail is waving, begging me to play.
I've got other things to do
More important than you.
When I first brought you home, a ball of black fluff
I could hold in my arms, Your big brown eyes enchanted me,
But now the kitchen's full of dirty dishes and I've got such a busy day . . .
"But look," your eyes say, "how the sun shines!"
But nothing, I reply. I haven't got the time.

And yet . . .

All right.

Puppy-dog eyes still get to me anyway.

Just over it

We’re overcharged at the pump
over filled at the local dump
We over eat
so, we overly plump

I’m underpaid, overcharged
like everyone else
just trying to live large
while being myself
I’m so over trying
to be like anyone else. . .

©Rodney C. Walmer 4/26/08 Sorry for the terrible entry, not feeling well today, a bit under the
weather. Will try for a better entry later. Rod. I had an alternate version, but the content might be
unacceptable due to one line that might be considered inappropriate.

Here's mine for today... It's political, no offense intended, but I'm so tired of the political RAT RACE....

Over Nothing

I'm so over the presidential race,
who's telling the truth,
who's two face...

I'm so over the Obama, Clinton
and
McCain,
who's the best ,
who's like the rest...


I'm so over the mud slinging,
who's it going to be,
who's going to agree...

I'm so over the politics,
who's my next president,
who's going to be
the White House resident...

I don't really care anymore,
who's got the most,
who's going to boast...

It's all
over nothing,
I'm so over it...
I don't give a sh*t

I am posting the original version, if it's inappropriate, just delete it Robert.

Just over it (alternate)

We’re overcharged at the pump
over filled at the local dump
We over eat
so, we overly plump

I’m underpaid
hardly ever laid
less often hoorayed
always feel displayed
I just want to be myself
I am so over,
trying to live like anyone else. . .

©Rodney C. Walmer 4/26/08 Alternate version. Personally, I feel both versions stink. I write better, when I am not feeling ill.

Debra, this political race is not about politics, it's about gender and culture. The real candidate was purposely ignored and slandered, and misrepresented by the main stream media. He should have won hands down, and anyone took the time to see what he was about, has agreed with me on that. His name is Ron Paul.

Just my Humble Opinion.

Rod.

Hmmm... Not being American it took me a while to figure out whta the BLEEP! you were talking about, Robert. Got it now! Back later...

I’m So Over Overeating

I’m so over stuffing my face
And waking up feeling
Like I swallowed a dog
The size of a cocker spaniel

I’m so over people asking me
When my baby’s due
(Well, at least they think I’m
Young enough to have a baby!)

I’m so over my pants slipping
Below my belly
And the fear of children
Wondering if I’m Mrs. Clause

I’m so over having so many
Different sizes in my closet
That I’m tempted to steal
Divider numbers from Wal-Mart

I’m so over carrying around
The extra weight equivalent
To a small child
On not-so-small child

I’m so over making excuses
For sitting around like a slug
In the evenings watching TV
And getting precious little done

I’m so over overeating!
And under exercising
And, Robert and PAD people,
My name is Connie

I’m So Over Sharing The Words

Almost daily the pen
Sails across seas of paper
Or fingers dance first slow
Then percussion across the keyboard,
A lifetime library full of observations
Silently screaming testament
To what’s inside,
Unshared.

Smeared emotion and language
Never good enough, too raw,
Unconventional, unstructured,
Nothing
Anyone couldn’t have said better,
Still compelled to keep going;
Loving all the words anyway

Until
Electronically illuminated
I see shining up at me:
“Poem-a-day in April”.

The dragon of fear rose up
To rend and incinerate
The idea of sharing
Me
All that dreck
And joy
With total strangers;
The challenge here was more
Than writing every day.

I battle the beast now day by day
Knowing the date
Of it’s timely defeat.

I'm so over caring

I'm so caring thought we are near the end.
For almost two years I took care of them
and it is time for me to go away
they are growing and want things in their way
sending my environment into hell.
I have to go where peace for me may dwell
taking my bags and never to look back,
moving from my brain the bothering clack
that so often is hammering my head.

I'm so over caring of my grandkids
that my personal life is at a brink.

I wanted to do it but things have changed
and it's obvious that they are tired of me
I don't belong any more as I see
since the mother's back things are not the same.
Nothing is left for me but a farewell
driving down to the lower forty eight
like I always have done, like yesterday
in somewhere else looking for a new dell.
I need to go somewhere, I need a friend.

Rod,
I agree with you...
I wrote my poem because I am tired of the circus that our judicial system has become and is becoming.
Debra

Rod, so true! I wish Ron Paul had gotten a bit more publicity, so that he couldn't have been pushed aside so easily.

“I’m so over snow.”

It’s rained the last two days
Now everything is green
But then the temperature drops
Surprise! Wake up! Just stop.

The snow is falling
The wind is blowing
The green has gone away
Please melt soon I pray.

Spring is a fickle lady
You never know how she’ll blow
With my sweater and my tea
I’m so over snow!

April 26, 2008
© Michelle H.

Thank you Debra and Kim, if you are interested there are Ron Paul chat groups on IRC, in the server Efnet or Freenode, they are called #RonPaul, you are always welcome to join. We are not giving up on Ron Paul just yet. :-)

Rod.

I'm So Over Writing Poetry

It's finally happened. Last night
I wrote my last for real poem. As soon
as I'd finished it I knew
there was nothing left to do
but lay down and sleep the sleep
of the dead, my life's work finished.

I can't explain how I knew that last
small metaphor, the one about my dog
was it, but after I caught my glance
drifting between dog and poem,
then back to dog, that was it. It was over.

Waking this morning I saw the sun,
knew I had freed myself from the chain
of line, half line, line breaks, and ego.
This is my declaration of independence,
my barbaric yawp, my final death rattle
before I sputter and give up the ghost.

Poetry I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
Poetry three dollars and seventy-four cents April 26, 2008.
I can't stand my own mind.

Now that I've given you up, I'll go buy
some tan Dockers and loafers, get a job
selling ad space in men's magazines, plan
for retirement and two week vacations.
Now, go away. I'm finished with all of it.

I’m so over donuts—

All that glaze and
powdered sugar,
And the heavy feeling
in my stomach
After the first dozen
Cream-filled,
chocolate iced
Desperation
I’m so over donuts
Pass the carrot sticks

I am so over ex-pats…


I am so over the ex-pat
Whining, whinging
Moaning, groaning
Going on and on
And
On…

“Their” country has gone
To the dogs, it’s ruined
By government
By foreigners
By smoking bans
By taxes
By yoofs in hoodies
And everybody wants
To leave…

But they already have!
They got up, got out
Went away, went abroad
Moved on, moved to
The sun and sea and sangria
So why can’t they just
Shut up!

It’s not their problem
They don’t live there
Anymore, wouldn’t go
Go back, not if you paid
Them their weight
In gold or diamonds
Or both

So please just stop!
Just shut the hell up!

And I am so over ex-pats
Whining, whinging
Moaning, groaning
Going on and on
And
On…

Because the stupid Spanish
Can’t speak English
And how the place is
Full of immigrants
Robbing, stealing
Murdering Rumanian
Bastards and have you seen
How much a beer is now?
“I bet they have special prices
For foreigners”

For crying out loud
I am so over your
Bullshit, if you
Don’t like it here
Why don’t you just
Go home?
Oh! That’s right
You don’t like it there
Either!

To Carla Cherry - Wow, incredible poem. I love it.

Over and out

I’m so over the hill
My watch refuses to work
For me.
Everytime I look at it,
I swear I see
“Time’s up, buddy”.

I’m so overmedicated,
Elvis would be proud
Of me.
We’d sit in the music room
At Graceland
Popping pills and
Buttons off our shirts.

I’m so over the top
with my poetry,
One day I hope to learn
how to write it
properly.

Iain,
Love the poem
Rod,
Thanks

To Kerri.

Cats, Poetry & Death #2

I am so over
Cats, Poetry and Death
I want to write about
Dogs, Prose and Life
I want to write about butterflies
Pygmies, Giraffes, Eskimos
Sorry, that's Inuits, innit?
I want to write about
Politics and social inequality
And bullets and fear and the little
Multi-coloured bits they put
On ice-cream and hundreds and
Thousands of things that matter
But every time I get stuck,
Amusingly museless,
I end up writing about
Cats, Poetry or Death
(Or sometimes all three!)

I'm So Over Aspects of Loving You

I'm so over vacuuming three times
a day and still finding dog hair
all over the sofa. I'm so over
having you chew my favorite

pair of loafers just because
I went to the beach with Jim
and left you behind. I'm so over
carrying 40 lb bags of kibble,

then wrenching my back when
I pour it into the barrel. I'm
so over broiling a sirloin
to medium rare perfection

and then having you grab it and
eat it all. I'm so over having you
dislocate my shoulder every time
you see a squirrel.

It's just that I'm a sucker for
big grown eyes and a furry head
on my lap. Just the head, mind.
Hey, you're knocking me over...

Debra, thanks. And ain't nuffin' wrong with a bit o' political griping!

Over It

Now that you have the all clear
signs from the doctors
and the scars from the surgeries
are starting to fade
it feels like the cancer
is finally over

That day when you told me
you didn’t want to talk about it
I cried in your shower
my hand over my mouth
so you wouldn’t hear

Maybe I wasn’t there
as much as you needed
but I was there more
than anyone else
except your parents
who care for you still
as their little girl
you can’t let go of

I had such hope
for the journey the cancer
would grant you
the way you would see me
as a friend who gives more
than she gets

what you see
is more of yourself
your hair, your teeth, your tan
your nails

I would take it all back
for you
first
and then for me
as I would rather not
have gone through it
to realize
I am over it

Really enjoying todays poems so far. I could sit and do this one all day... don't worry, I won't! Just leave you all with a note from my old frien Ringo and a short lament.

Dear Moosehead,

I am so over your sister
working strip joints. I would
never have married her if I’d
known she was a slut. Still, it
gives me more time with your
Mom. Also am so over The DH
so I’m switching to the Mets.
Pick me up at 7 or I’ll seeya
in heaven.

p.s. Bring your cousin.

Yours over the top

Ringo the Howler

**********************************

Druid’s Lament

I am so over
Liberals and promiscuity.
With the age of consent
At just 13, can’t remember
The last time we even had
A Virgin to sacrifice.

Oz

I’m so over the rainbow—
Splitting skies, leaves asunder,
Can you say it with me?
zoom zoom zoom
Dusty rooftops exude a scent of
lollipops and peeling oranges
zoom zoom zoom
Candy sky, but the black keeps coming
blowing holes in my cover.
The sky explodes and I realize
the tiny little people below
are cap guns misfiring, sending
globules aloft like cupcakes
on fire. Say it with me!
Plunge yourself into the sky with me,
let the glitter fall where it may.

Elizabeth K. Keggi

Elizabeth, my cats are lucky I'm going out! That is scarily beautiful. I am in awe!

Iain, I am quite flattered. Keep your mitts off your cats, now, and I promise leave my beloved Samsara alone. Seriously, Iain, I am flattered because I think your poems are terrific.

I’m so over

People who can’t
get over it.
Let go.
Jump aboard.
Get over it.

Carla - Thank you for your poem about Sean Bell.
-Elizabeth

The Blame Game

Wish I could come down
from my high.
You put me on
this pedestal,
demand more of me
every single day,
Then bitterly try
And knock me down.

It’s not my fault,
you created this mess.
Maybe got a little
too comfortable, too spoiled
for your own good.
You don’t own me.

Show a little more
respect, and maybe
I’ll stick around longer.
Stop wasting a good thing.
I’m sick of reading the
fuel headlines,
saying how I’m so overpriced.
“Supply and demand, baby”.

Over Winter

It came to us with cold days
and even colder nights
Though it had it’s own ways
with even better delights
But, then came the snow
stopping traffic
Nothing would go
stepping in places specific
or cold soaked feet you would get
It’s moving on now
for another year
winter is taking a bow
to warmer weather, skies clear
Spring is in the air
which means enjoying a barbecue
light jackets
new things to do
Like that’ it’s
time to say goodbye
to winter
and hey there, Hi
to spring
only one thing
I am so over Winter
I’d welcome anything. . .

©Rodney C. Walmer 4/26/08 Prompt #26 “I’m So Over”

Iain,
YW and TY.
I guess the saying is true:
" The pen is mightier than the sword"

Debra

I’m so over that cute smile

I’m so over that cute smile
And the way he always says
The cutest silliest wittiest things
And I am so over how he inspires
The best in my writing
And when I am around him
I feel like writing
And I am so over
All of the times
He blew me off
And promised me things
Only to “forget”
Or really forget
And break his promises
Or perhaps it was all just
Casual conversation to him
The whole time
So I am so over
His soulful poet act
But it still warms my heart
Just to see his smile.

I Am So Over the Hill

I am so over the hill, I remember my first car,
an AMC Gremlin, a little beige gnome
with the bitten-off tail that cost me three grand, new.
It got thirty miles per gallon, impressive even
by today’s standards.

I am so over the hill, I remember the days before air bags,
when you could still get a steering wheel in the sternum
or a trip through the windshield with a sudden impact.
I remember when a built-in 8-track player
was a cool option.

I am so over the hill
I remember filling my gas tank on less than ten bucks,
and that was after the first big “oil crisis”.
But hey, today someone has to foot the bill
for those big-oil CEOs' salaries, and someone has to pay
for that “war or terror”.

Now, I drive a semi-green hybrid SUV
that still costs me forty bucks or more to fill.
But I try to be economical,
especially when I get to coast, once I get
over the hill.

The Cycle

I’m so over the cycle.
You’re beautiful.
I love you.
You’re great.
What did you say to me?
What do think you’re doing?
That’s it, we’re over!
I’m out!
You’re on your own!
Honey, I’m sorry, please let me stay.
It never happened.
You’re beautiful.
I love you.
You’re great.

I am so over teenagers

You look at me with jaded eyes
"Do we have to read more poetry?"
The whine is killing me.

YES!

Poetry today, and poetry tomorrow.
We will read it, it write it, comment on it.
Alliteration animates all the asinine
verbiage the rappers throw at you.
Why can't you just try to enjoy a little
Dickinson or William Carlos Williams?

Your hormonally fired synapses
produce the most flagrant abuses
of language. But I accept the
beating if only you will listen
to the Beats or at least The Beatles.

But alas, you are in that most
narcissistic of ages and places.
Perhaps I am asking too much and
should just accept the occasional
gift: "That was hyperbole!"

I'm so over nightmares

That's it, I'm out.
I've had enough,
I can't take anymore.
I quit this bout,
you've called my bluff.
I'm walking out the door.
This mess right here,
inside my head
is more than I can take.
The stress and fear
when I'm in bed.
I'd rather stay awake.

Apple of My Eye

I'm so over you.
We're like
two p's
in an I-ppod.

Just not meant
to be together.


(I was just thinkin' off the top of my head...and it hurts. Guess I'm not over my flu yet:))

I'm so over
dressed, my word!
I thought R.S.V.P.
meant
Rabbit
Suit
Vests
Preferred!

{Hope this doesn't pop up twice. I didn't see it post the first time, so this is the second attempt.)

Cheers to Rebecca above. You must be speaking of my 14 year old. I'm convinced she is proof that the Antichrist has, in fact, returned.

I’m So Over Weight

It isn’t winter anymore.
Now I study life’s twist and tango
with hummingbirds, butterflies,
bouffant bees: wee alchemists,
muscular pardoxes.
A season for this and a season for that:
I turn the adipose luxury
of a winterized bear
into the yoga of the solar carpet
that stretches out, showing me
the rest of my life:
and I crave this lightness more
than chocolate.

Maria Jacketti

I'm so over not being perfect. Mother wanted perfect children, I am not.Of this she reminds me,perfect you are not.But I was a good boy, perfect I was not.And now I am a good son, perfect I am not. Just let me be, I say, because perfect I will never be.

Rod - I am so very over winter as well. We had tornado weather yesterday (that's nice, normal summer weather!), and Monday we're supposed to have snow. Thank goodness the daffodils seem oblivious to all the temperature extremes. And the birds are out there doing their thing. Amazing.

Everyone, great poems today. Justin, don't give up poetry. I don't think it's something you can give up. I find it's in my very being and at times there is nothing else to do but write a poem. I've always only written when inspired, so doing it to a prompt has been an experience. Thanks Robert.
Barbara

I'm so over

thinking of you first
as if my life weren't as important.
I'm so over catering to you
as if you were the star
in this house
outshining all the others
your needs always coming first
your desires and whims;
stopping everything
while you tell me yet
another unnecessary fact
watching you as you sleep
listening for the breathing
my heart skipping a beat
at a sudden movement

I'm so over the pain
you cause with
your unnecessary barbs
at my yet unfilled career goals
I am attempting
to scale this wall,
but you are not
there to catch me
waiting to give me
the boost I need
as I slide a few feet down

I'm so over
your churlish mannerisms
your undermining
my very existence
demeaning
my triumphs as secondary
squashing
my hopes as trivial
I'm so over
being your nurse
when you take care
of yourself like a king
ignoring my presence
and demanding
I clean up your debris
I'm so over wasting my joy
as if I were not worthy
to revel in simple
pleasures that are not paid
I'm so over worrying about
you and your health when
you argue each time I remind
you of a necessary act.
It's been a year and a half
of stress and worry
of watching and hoping
and you have survived
coming through
like your hero John Wayne
and it is time
to be the man you were.

I am so over the nightmare
of your heart attack
and the unsteadiness
of your bypass and beyond
when your mind hovered
between this world and
a world of your own making.
I am so over pretending
you are an invalid
and being your slave
when I receive in payment
your vitriol and hatred
and I want to return
to before
to the reason we continue
together to the look
in your eyes
I would follow anywhere.

I Am So Over Dinner

On Sunday night, it might
be an extravagance, an event
prepared with attention
and the seven flavors of love,
but Monday I'm back to slinging hash,
fixing chicken or pork chops,
harried after a day of work
and a long bus ride,
the stop at the store,
heavy bags to carry home,
persnickity palates to please,
no meat for one, avoid avocados,
olives, and eggs for another,
a third prefers no broccoli.
The knife slides through an onion.
The oil heats. A sizzling begins.
The cops make an arrest
or the doctor makes
a diagnosis. I made
a mistake, but the show must go on
until I can set a plate
in front of each critical eye,
sit myself down
with a glass of wine,
eat quickly because I do,
while the pans wait to be washed.
This could be a ritual,
but it lost its mysticism
back in the last century.
Instead let's eat salads.
Let's just eat cake
or take-out. I've got
a drawer full of menus.

Cute poems, John Maloney and Bruce Neidt

I'm enjoying all of the poems. So much fun.

Not that this is the first time I've felt this way but I definitely want to come back to this one and play with it some more. I've had this experience with some of the previous prompts as well so I guess I'll be revising poetry for months after only one month of writing. :)

Over Myself


I’m so damn over myself—
This mirage of self-sabotage
This passive aggressive procrastination
As explanation of why I didn’t do today
What I should’ve done yesterday
And my never ending to-do list
Exponentially exposing my inabilities
Increasing the instability I feel.

My emotional walls are so tall
God tiptoes along the top
But I have no boundaries
And the bricks are glass so
Any passer by can spy
Me dancing naked to nothing
But the singing inside.

I’m so very over myself—
Selfish self-aggrandization
Fantasizing about how fantastic I am
Writing about myself like I’m all that
Flinging words of wisdom as if
My advice were a sacrifice
My pretensions, pretending my words matter
And weigh more than the mother love
That first put my hand to pen to paper
Puppet to her lead, pauper to her knowledge
Pirating her wisdom, and pawning poems
To anyone with neither ears nor heart.

I am so over and over-tired of being
Too much and not enough
Too thick
Too short
Too old
Too educated
Too frustrated
Too angry
Too angry
Too damn angry and
At the same damn time
Of trying to balance who I am
With who I am becoming
Trying to find some satisfaction
Dancing on the pin head with
Invisible angels.

Elizabth, I am 'umble. so very, very 'umble.

Debra, You've jargoned me out again! Plse explain..


I'm so over over over dressing...

I over dressed and no one
guessed that it was me at all
Rabbit skin vests were de riguer
but I went au natural

I didn't know the form or style
to dress up fine and dandy
just once or twice a while
so I tipped up in the nude (and randy)

Its twelve inches long but I
don't use it as a rule
measured carefully, why?
It's pefect for a fool

I'm so over being coy
a poet to pretend
I'm just a loonie boy
who gibbers to the end

I'll dress as Captain Marvel
or come as Superman
but unless you can unravel
You won't guess who I am

I'm the guest the Toad
Don't wanna entertain
I'm the dwarf of old
Who sold his Pizza brain.



Apologies to Bill!

I am so over...

I am so over living in that box!
Spending my life pleasing others,
And neglecting my own self.

Now I do what I want to do.
My real feelings and desires
are valid, at last.

And the ironic thing is -
it isn’t selfish.
Now that I take care of myself,
I have much more to give
to the ones I love.

I'm So Over Listening to Someone say "I'm So Over someone." (#26)

There are lots of cliches
and one of the most overused
is when you say
"I'm so over him" or
"I'm so over her" because
it's certain that
when you say that,
you'll never be
over "him" or "her."

Iain,
YW: Your Welcome
TY: Thank You

Debra

Debra, TY cos when I rhyme I do Thick as in thick as a brick!

A Temple to What?

I’m so over this evaluation,
Breaking down in ones and fives.
My palates are dry
From dispelling your truth.
Last night I creaked out
Unpaginated
Somewhat ambiguous.
The fees are in hand,
My place reserved,
I’ve mastered your arts,
Invoke, convoke, choke,
Provoke me with your guile.

RRDebra, this a re-write of an oldie inre your comment

The Pen is mightier...

Supporting the ideology
of a war on terror
is tough
enough
it seems.
But taking a country
by the gun
is hardly
the stuff
of dreams.


The original was about Ireland, but any war will do! Thanks for the reminder.

I’m So Over Myself

“Curtis is a picture of understated elegance. In Hollywood, where middle-aged actresses are expected to resort to extreme measures to look younger, her short, naturally silver hair is subversive. By local standards Jamie Lee is letting her freak flag fly.”—AARP Magazine

When Caroline Kennedy made the cover
Of a certain publication with a narrow marketing segment,
Neil Diamond confessed that she was his “Sweet Caroline,”
Had been all along.

I know it’s so cliché to claim
That fifty’s the new forty; and now
That Brokaw has shifted his focus
From the Greatest Generation to
The Boomers—that’s us—
It’s hard to overlook the Gen X-ers
And Y-ers breathing down own necks.

I’m not ready to let myself go,
To give it up; but I find laugh lines
Sexier than Botox. I don’t’ need
A silicone lift to feel perkier.
And like Jamie Lee, I let my freak flag fly.

When I quit taking myself so seriously,
I like myself best of all. From now on,
I’m going more than gray.

Satia, i get you totally. I loved your piece as it is but personally I leave 6 months before revision. There are pieces I've written this month & hated but others liked and some that next day I kinda liked. For me you have to be able read it without memory, like its not yours, then you can judge it. There are things I've written (even this month) that I would never change & yet people look blank... This art, this alchemy of words is always too subjective.... But what do I know, I write offensive notes to some poor sap called Moosehead & call it poetry!

"Little" Richard Makepeace from Macon, Georgia is black, jewish & homosexual. Unbelievably he chose to make his life harder by playing rock'n'roll. This is dedicated to the innovator, the inspirater, the creator of Rock and Roll. The said Little Richard.

P.C. ( isn’t that a computer?)

I am so over PC
It’s like California took over
The whole world
(in its lunch hour!)
Like the neighbour
On Greg & Thingy
You know the fag-hag
He gets to say
Queer and Homo
And Queen
And I don’t know what
Else but I have to say
Gay which used to mean
Happy and Samuel L. Jackson
Sonofabitch, where does he get off?
Cos he can say Nigger 1347
Times in one movie and I can never
Ever call him that, hell just not saying
“ the movie actor, you know the one
Who was in Pulp Fiction with that old dancing poof”
Instead of the black guy who worked with Travolta
Will probably get me arrested on charges of being a laptop
Sorry, I mean not PC.
I am so, so over how the guy in the corner with the
Red tie is no longer Korean but racially profiled by his
Sartorial failings. Like that tie goes with that shirt!
And that Ali G! “ Is it cos I is Black?”
No, its cos you is Jewish & is behaving like an asshole.
‘Cept you is doin’ it on TV, so it’s OK.
But I write it down and I’m bein’ offensive,
So I said to the Man, “ What? Is it cos I is a poet?”

And the Man said NO! “ Its cos you is mad and has lost the plot.
Now be a good little nutter, and come with me….


If you have been offended by this or know someone who might be then you probably need to get out more. ( Which will have suffice in lieu of an apology).

Finally caught up, at least for now. I LOVED all the political stuff...and lots of the funny ones as well. Good writing folks. Four more days! I've never had a better time with my writing.

Prompt April 26 2008
I’M SO OVER

I’m so over
The need to please
The wish to be noticed
Desire to be liked

I’m so over
Waiting for recognition
Thinking without optimism
Feeling despair

I’m so over
Caring what he thinks
Wondering what she thinks
Thinking what they think

I’m so over
Courting disaster
Procrastination
Fear of success

I'm So Overstuffed

I'm so overstuffed,
I don't know what to do.
Last night they took my guts out,
and filled me up with goo.

Then they buttered up and cooked me,
and made me feel so hot,
I got to feeling warm and crisp;
am I really here or not?

Now I'm on a platter,
unable to move an inch,
wishing, ruing, full of wonder;
how did I get in this pinch?

There's people all around me,
bowing their heads to pray.
And all they keep talking about,
is something called Thanksgiving Day!

Iain, loved it!
I can't speak for the other 'special interest groups' represented in your poem, but, with one side of my family being *very* jewish (yiddish, even) I find what you wrote much more refreshing than offensive.

I thank you, Kim.

Essa, I love it. I wish I'd said it, woulda got me off the hook...

Congrats to all! Wonderful poems today, especially lian--love the Ex-Pat and PC.

I am so over being in
my 50's, that I'm closer
to 60. I have done it,
Mom, finally reached that
satiation point where I
like myself better than I
like you. I am so over
trying to guess what will
make you happy
make you laugh
make you proud
make you extend a compliment
my way that you don't snatch back.

I am so over you finding fault
with everything I do or say,
that I now live my life my way.

wistful thinking

Ah sweet saltiness
of women and
a five o’ clock
martini warm
musk of a man and
big dogs who
lean into
tightened thighs
Och highlands of
heather and
equatorial moonlight
paper-skinned
elders and bairns
not meant for
this being
I’m so over
saying goodbye
what more but to
love you and
keep on singing
I’ll see you in
my dreams

Rebecca,
Do you teach English? I will never, never give up trying to get some of them to love poetry, some at least to like it, and all to tolerate. Happy National Poetry Month!

I'm So Over Being A Woman

I,
Without fail derail
Men's thoughts
When I pass by
They notice nothing
Above my neckline
And wherever I go
Whatever I do
Boobs always in the way
How dull!

carla cherry, i am deeply touched by your poem.

A day late again. Here are both of mine.

World’s Worst Waitress


Yep, that was me!
What pleasure can I draw after all these years?
Only that some of the people whom
I abused probably deserved it.
After all, even the worlds
worst waitress doesn’t deserve abuse herself.
She does the best she can.
Can’t help it if she has two left feet
and is right brained.
Some people are so mean:
the drunk who tried
to impress his date by being furious
at me because our hotel house phone
was on the wall. He kept demanding
that I bring a phone to his table.
An impossibility since no cord in
the world is that long!
If a trophy were given me,
it would have to be a Bloody Mary
in honor of the one I spilled down
the front of a customer.
-----------------------------------------
I Am So Over

Criticism. First husband
Found nothing right in
Anything I did. I
Finally had to break
All the dishes to
Shut him up. Second husband
Complained about my actions
All the time. What I
Said. What I did. What I wore.
Finally had to divorce him.
Third husband was easy.
I fed him arsenic.

First, let me say I always enjoy reading Iain's poetry...
All poems today were great of course. I will miss this blog and the wonderful new friends I have made when it ends. You can always catch me on my website....
Debra

April 26 day 26

I’m so over the . . .
Promise that says you will when you don’t
the promise of tomorrow that never comes
and the promise of life until death do us part,
parting happens and some die, but not always
from death , some die while living.
Beware the Promise!

"I'm so over gin"

You were my best friend and many times
My only friend
Late Friday nights all alone and by myself
You kept me company
And made me smile
Made me laugh at things
That I wouldn’t normally even find funny
If someone paid me to laugh
To gave me courage to make that call
To that girl I meant yesterday at the mall

But then things change
And you became a demanding witch
Expecting me to give you all my attention
Expecting me to only be with you
Making me say stupid things
Making me act stupid acts
Making me puke on the carpet
Now I won’t get that deposit back

Because of you even my breathe started to stink
And some malodorous secretions
Even made my beloved cats
Turn their noses up at me
I thought we were cool
I thought we were best of friends
And then you just left me dry
When the money came to the end

But that’s all in the past
And I’ve finally allowed myself to let you go
Excised you like a demon
Kicked you out of the door
Happiness once again is in my life
And my new friend rum
Told me that she would never treat me like that

Barbara Ehrentreu, what a strong, strong poem!!
Linda

Putting Out

I'm so over second guessing
whether I am a *real* writer,
putting my words, my passion,
my heart into some agent's
one-page, one-bite lookover
and denied a success
dictated by whimsy,
a bottom-line driven market,
and cranky over-caffeinated
assistants aspiring for Friday night
noodles and hot sake.

But words I catharse,
and must, so screw *success*:
I am a writer.
Dammit.

----
This is really horrible and written on a cocktail napkin at a bar in Boston after a full day at a writing conference and lots of stuff to ponder and three glasses of wine(!). Despite the despairing tone, however, the conference is very good and the feedback on the Great American Novel (not!) encouraging. But, oh... the market is so damn bleak. Peace, Linda

I’m so overweight

according to the charts
at the doctor’s office and Weight Watchers, although I’ve read that Marilyn Monroe
wore a size 14.
Just like me.
I can’t help but wonder,
if I put on one of those girly dresses
the kind with a tight waist and a full skirt,
and then stood on top of an air vent,
if my picture could become famous.

I am reposting this poem because for some reason there was no line break where there was supposed to be and even though the title of the poem says I'm so overweight I guess what I really am is over anal because I just couldn't leave it.


I’m so overweight

according to the charts
at the doctor’s office and Weight Watchers,
although I’ve read that Marilyn Monroe
wore a size 14.
Just like me.
I can’t help but wonder,
if I put on one of those girly dresses
the kind with a tight waist and a full skirt,
and then stood on top of an air vent,
if my picture could become famous.

I’m so over cooking

I never was much good
At it, and my heart was never
In it--somehow, recipes just
Seemed like opportunities to
Figure out how many exotic
Ingredients I didn’t have but
Might be able to leave out and still
Come up with something edible.
Now, I had to try when my kids
Were growing up, but honestly,
They hated what I knew how to cook--
Chilli, Johnny Marzetti (my
Mom’s idea of what to do with ground
Beef, macaroni and cheese), even
Beef Stroganoff, my showcase dish,
Which was loved by my son, but only
When I deleted the onions, and mush-
Rooms--my gosh there was almost nothing
Left after that. But sometimes I surprised them,
I did, like when I learned how to make a decent
Chicken Marsala, and fairly good popovers,
A continuing crowd favorite. Still, I have
To say, the thing I always made the best,
And was most happy to make, was
A reservation.

Lyn Sedwick

I am so over it.
I pack, I think.
I am over the excuses
I am over the lies
I am over YOU.

I have places to go
things to do.
Never again will I
waitiaround,
bide my time
swim upstream.
.

Grow or die.
It is true for business.
It is true plants.
It is true for me.

I am so over it.
I am outta here.
See ya later.
Bye.

I'm so over the noise...

I try to sleep
but it shakes the bed
and not it's not just
in my head
I pace the room
I shake my fist
I swear someone wil
pay for this

but wait...a break
the noise has stopped

jump into bed
and snuggle down
arrange the folds
of my nightgown
and hope I fall
asleep real fast
I know this quiet
will not last

I am SO over loud noises

Perfect (or not)

I'm so over Being perfect
A perfect Hostess,Cook, Wife, Mother
Daughter, Lawyer, Sister, Gardener,
I won't do it any more
The more that I try to be it
The more that I am sure
I'm good but I'm not perfect
Perfect is a bore
Its become a standard
That I now reject
It's a goal that no one,
No one has ever met
So I'm going with good enough
And what makes me happiest
Perfect makes me miserable
And I just won't play that game
So if Perfect comes calling
Don't mention my name

Margaret Fieland, love your poem. makes me smile.

Poking That Thing Into My Head

I'm so over
trying to write this poem
as I lay here
ridiculously intoxicated
at my best friend's house
listening to
the person on my left
drunk dial some guy
from Annondale-on-Hudson
and feeling the incessant
ribcage pokes from
the person on my right...

Whoa.
Someone just said,
"I hate how it feels!"
I can only imagine
what "it" refers to.
This isn't a poem.
John's telling me to
Google "mixing my meats."
I like the sound
of the word 'chorizo.'
Fuck. When you hear
"I'm gonna get snipered!"
you know nothing
is really going
all that well...

...and here's where
I should attempt
to make some kind of
deep connection between
the first stanza
and the second stanza
but I don't think
I'm in any condition
to legitimately do that
so I'll just fall asleep
while listening to people
say bizarre shit like,
"We're like molesting her butt"
and "OK, we're going to
stick these in your nose"
and oh my God
you should see
my boyfriend's face
right
now.