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It's Not About You #poemaday #poetryaddict #poem

The mountain never bowed to applause, Nor did the river pause for tears. The sky has carried a thousand storms Without remembering a single face. You are a traveler, not the road. A heartbeat, not the clock. The world was already speaking Long before it learned your name. Some goodbyes bloom from seasons, Not from mistakes. Some distances are drawn by time, Not by the hands that reach across them. Don't make yourself the author Of every unfinished sentence. Some pages are left blank Because silence belongs there. There is a strange mercy In not standing at the center Of every ending, Of every change. The sun does not rise to prove a point. The stars do not dim to send a message. Life simply unfolds, Wild, indifferent, beautiful. So carry your kindness, Leave your footprints lightly, And when the world turns without asking, Smile. It's not about you. That's how it is. © 2026 Gloria Penelope
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The Spectacularly Unsupervised Genius #poem-a-day #poetry #freeverse #funnypoem

There once was a genius renowned,
For thoughts that were tightly wound,
He could map every star,
Name planets afar,
Yet tripped on completely flat ground.

He’d lecture on time with a grin,
Explain where the universe’s been,
With charts so precise
They’d make ice feel like spice.
Then forget what room he was in.

His lab was a marvel of mess,
Organized chaos at best,
With wires and notes,
Half-written quotes,
And a sandwich mid-experiment test.

“Behold!” he would proudly declare,
Adjusting his lab-coated flair,
“This device that I’ve made
Will not… well, it may...
But mostly it shouldn’t catch fire there.”

He’d flip a switch labeled “DO NOT,”
Then say, “Let us see what we’ve got,”
A rumble, a flash,
A scientifically loud crash.
“Ah,” he’d say, “that was planned, oddly not.”

A toaster once gained self-awareness,
And spoke with alarming self-fairness,
“Your logic is weak,
Your wiring is bleak.”
It said with mechanical rareness.

He nodded. “Fascinating tone.”
Then tried to improve it alone.
It ejected his bread,
Then loudly it said,
“I refuse to be used for your scone.”

He built a machine for “efficiency,”
Which mostly produced inconsistency,
It sorted his files,
Then laughed for a while...
A breakthrough in… mild hostility.

His colleagues would watch from afar,
And whisper, “He’s gone a bit far,”
Yet still they would stay,
(At a safe distance, okay)
In case he discovered a star.

One day, he declared with delight,
“I’ve finally gotten it right!”
The room gave a shake,
The floor shook...
“Or at least… approximately right.”

The ceiling said goodbye that day,
A chair made a bold getaway,
The machine sang a song,
Entirely too long...
About bread in a philosophical way.

Yet still, through the sparks and the smoke,
He stood there and thoughtfully spoke,
“Each failure, you see,
Is progress to me...
Though admittedly, some are a joke.”

He paused, then adjusted his stance,
“I simply refine and enhance,
Ignore what explodes,
Rewrite the codes...
And try not to blow up my pants.”

So here is the genius so grand,
With brilliance quite close at hand,
Who proves beyond doubt,
Without figuring out,
That maybe… just maybe…

He should not be left in command.


© 2026 Gloria Penelope

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