The Universe Doesn't Care: Writing Absurdist Poetry
You are a speck on a floating rock in an infinite void. Nothing you do will matter in a billion years. Your deepest loves, your greatest achievements, your most profound questions—all of it will be swallowed by time without a trace.
And somehow, that's the most liberating thing you'll ever write about.
Absurdist poetry stares into the void—and laughs. It doesn't try to find meaning where there is none. It doesn't pretend the universe cares. Instead, it says: "Yes, this is ridiculous. Yes, we're tiny. Yes, none of this matters. So let's dance anyway."
If you've ever felt like Sisyphus pushing a boulder up a hill, only to watch it roll back down—and you kept pushing anyway—you're ready to write absurdist poetry.
What the Heck is Absurdism?
Let's start with the basics—because "absurdism" sounds like a fancy philosophy term that belongs in a university lecture. But it's actually one of the most human ways of looking at the world.
The Core Idea
Absurdism, as defined by philosopher Albert Camus (the patron saint of this vibe), is the conflict between:
- Our human need for meaning—we desperately want to understand why we're here, what we're supposed to do, and whether any of it matters.
- The universe's total silence—it doesn't answer. It doesn't care. It just is.
When these two things collide, you get the Absurd.
Camus famously said: "There is only one really serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide." He meant: if life has no meaning, why bother living? His answer? Keep living anyway—but with your eyes wide open. Rebel against the meaninglessness by embracing it.
How It's Different from Nihilism
| Philosophy | What It Says | The Vibe |
|---|---|---|
| Nihilism | "Nothing matters, so why bother?" | Depressed, defeated, empty |
| Existentialism | "Nothing matters, so we create our own meaning." | Empowered, creative, intentional |
| Absurdism | "Nothing matters, and that's okay. Actually, it's hilarious." | Rebellious, defiant, alive |
Absurdism isn't despair—it's freedom. It says: since nothing matters, you're free. Free from expectations. Free from guilt. Free from the pressure to be "important." You can just live.
The Absurdist Hero
Camus used the myth of Sisyphus to explain it. Sisyphus was punished by the gods to roll a boulder up a hill forever. Every time he reached the top, the boulder rolled back down. Endless. Futile. Meaningless.
But Camus said: imagine Sisyphus is happy. Imagine he finds joy in the struggle. The boulder is his. The hill is his. The absurd is his—and he owns it.
"The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy."
That's absurdist poetry. The acceptance of meaninglessness, paired with defiant joy.
Mind-Blowing Absurdist Ideas to Fuel Your Poems
Before you write, marinate in these weird, wonderful, unsettling ideas. They might just crack open a poem.
The Universe is Indifferent
- The universe has been around for 13.8 billion years. You'll be here for about 80 if you're lucky. The universe doesn't know you exist, and if it did, it wouldn't care.
- We are made of stardust. Literally. Every atom in your body was forged inside a dying star. You are the universe becoming conscious of itself—and that's amazing and meaningless at the same time.
- Earth is a pale blue dot. Carl Sagan famously described our planet as a "mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam." Everything we've ever fought for, loved, or cried over happened on that speck.
- 99.9% of all species that ever existed are extinct. We're next. The timeline doesn't care.
The Absurd is Everyday
- You spend 1/3 of your life sleeping. That's 25 years of unconsciousness. You're missing 25 years of your own existence.
- You'll spend 6 months of your life waiting for red lights. Half a year, just waiting. For nothing.
- Every job you'll ever have will be filled by someone else after you're gone. Within 50 years, no one will remember your name.
- The average person has 3,000 dreams per year. You forget 95% of them. Whole lives, lived and lost, every single night.
Absurdist Art is Everywhere
- Samuel Beckett's "Waiting for Godot" is the ultimate absurdist play. Two men wait for a man who never comes. They talk. They wait. Nothing happens. It's brilliant.
- The Dada movement created "anti-art"—poems made of random words, sculptures made of trash. They were saying: art is meaningless, and that's the point.
- Kafka wrote about a man who wakes up as a giant insect ("The Metamorphosis"). No explanation. No meaning. Just horror and confusion. That's absurdism.
- Monty Python's "The Meaning of Life" ends with a character being given a box containing "The Meaning of Life"—and it's a salmon mousse. That's absurdism, comedy style.
Breaking the Cliché: How to Write Absurdist Poetry Without Sounding Pretentious
Absurdist poetry is tricky. Done well, it's brilliant. Done poorly, it sounds like a teenager trying to be deep.
Avoid These Traps
| Cliché Absurdism | Why It Fails |
|---|---|
| "Life is meaningless, man." | Too vague. Too stoner. No image. |
| "We're all gonna die." | True, but you need to show it, not say it. |
| Darkness without humor | Absurdism isn't depression—it's defiance. If it's just bleak, it's nihilism. |
| Philosophical lectures | Don't explain Camus in a poem. Show the absurd. |
| Being weird just to be weird | Absurdism needs a point. Randomness without meaning is just random. |
Lean Into These Strengths
| What Works | Why It Works |
|---|---|
| Juxtaposition | Put something profound next to something mundane. A funeral and a fast-food commercial. Love and a traffic jam. |
| Humor | Absurdism laughs at the void. Make your reader laugh, then make them think. |
| Specific, weird images | Not "life is meaningless"—but "the vending machine hums the same song as my grandmother's ventilator." |
| Repetition | Show the futility of endless cycles. Someone doing the same thing over and over. |
| Contradiction | Say two opposite things at once. "I am completely lost, and I have never been more found." |
| Everyday absurdities | The weirdness of modern life. Advertisements. Social media. Customer service. It's all inherently absurd. |
40 Prompts to Write Your Best Absurdist Poem
Pick your poison. These prompts will help you stare into the void—and write something worth reading.
ANGLE 1: THE COSMIC VOID
For poems about the universe's silence—and our tiny place in it.
1. A Letter to the Universe
Write a letter to the cosmos. Address it directly. Complain to it. Thank it. Ask it a question you know it won't answer. Sign it with your name and coordinates.
2. The Pale Blue Dot
Describe Earth as seen from a billion miles away. We're a speck. Write about everything happening on that speck—and how tiny it all looks from out there.
3. Conversation with the Void
You're alone in a dark room. The void is there. It doesn't speak. Write a monologue to it. What do you say when nothing is listening?
4. The Universe's Response
Write a poem from the perspective of the universe. What would it say to us? Would it even notice? Would it care? Would it laugh?
5. Your Obituary, Already Written
Write your own obituary—but keep it brutally honest. No euphemisms. No "beloved" or "missed." Just the facts. Then, maybe, add a postscript: "It didn't matter. But it was interesting."
6. The Last Human
Imagine you're the last person on Earth. Everyone else is gone. What do you do? What do you say? Who are you talking to? Why are you still talking?
7. Stardust
Write about the fact that you're made of exploded stars. Describe your body as cosmic debris. Your heart is a collapsed star. Your blood is nebula gas. Your thoughts are the universe thinking about itself.
8. The Heat Death of the Universe
Eventually, the universe will reach maximum entropy. Everything will be cold. Empty. Still. Write a poem from that future moment, looking back at us.
ANGLE 2: THE ABSURDITY OF EVERYDAY LIFE
For poems about the weird, the mundane, and the ridiculous things we do while pretending they matter.
9. The 9-to-5
Describe a typical workday—but zoom out. You're sitting in a box, pressing buttons, moving paper. Everyone is doing the same. The building will be demolished one day. The company will be forgotten. Write about the absurdity of it.
10. Waiting for Godot at the DMV
You're in a line that never moves. For hours. For no reason. Write about the existential weight of standing in line for something that doesn't actually matter.
11. The Advertisement
Describe a commercial or billboard. It's screaming at you to buy something you don't need. It promises happiness, sexiness, fulfillment. It's lying. Write about the absurdity of the sell.
12. Social Media
You're scrolling. Endless. Mindless. You're watching other people's curated lives while your own life plays out unnoticed. Write about the digital void and the small, frantic attempts to fill it.
13. The Unread Email
You've been sending emails. No one responds. You keep sending them. Write about the absurdity of speaking into a void that occasionally answers with "Thanks!" or a thumbs-up emoji.
14. The Subway
Hundreds of people packed into a metal tube. No one speaks. No one looks at each other. Everyone is alone, together. Write about that.
15. The Commute
You drive the same route every day. Same traffic. Same lights. Same exits. You're a character in a loop. Write about the loop.
16. The Customer Service Call
You're on hold. A robot voice tells you your call is important. It's not. You know it's not. The robot knows it's not. Write about the conversation you're having with a machine that doesn't care.
17. The Grocery Store
You're pushing a cart. You're choosing between 50 kinds of cereal. Your ancestors fought wolves and starved in winters. Now you're deciding between Cinnamon Toast Crunch and Honey Nut Cheerios. Write about that.
18. The Elevator
You're trapped in a small box with strangers. Everyone stares at the numbers. No one speaks. The door opens. You leave. You'll never see them again. Write about the intimacy and meaninglessness of that shared 30 seconds.
ANGLE 3: SISYPHUS ENERGY
For poems about the struggle, the repetition, and the defiant joy of doing it anyway.
19. Your Personal Boulder
What's your boulder? What do you push up the hill every day, knowing it will roll back down? Describe it. Name it. Write about the weight, the climb, the fall, and why you keep pushing.
20. The Repeat
Write about a task you do over and over. Brushing your teeth. Making your bed. Washing dishes. Zoom in on the ritual. Zoom out to the absurdity of doing the same thing for 80 years. Then find the beauty in it.
21. The Breakthrough That Wasn't
You made progress. You got to the top. Then it all fell apart. Write about the moment the boulder rolled back—and the decision to push it up again anyway.
22. Morning Routine
Describe your morning routine as if it were a sacred ritual. Then describe it as if it were an absurd joke. Do both in the same poem.
23. The Unmade Bed
You made your bed. It looked perfect. Then you slept in it. It's messy again. Write about the futility of making a bed you're just going to unmake.
24. The Gym
You lift weights. You put them down. You lift them again. You're getting stronger—but eventually, you'll get weaker. Eventually, you won't lift anything. Write about the absurdity of getting strong just to fade.
25. The Garden
You plant seeds. They grow. They die. You plant again. This is the cycle. Write about the acceptance of the cycle—and the joy of the green before the brown.
ANGLE 4: THE WEIRD & SURREAL
For poems that lean into the bizarre, the dreamlike, and the nonsensical.
26. The Talking Object
A chair speaks. A toaster has opinions. A lightbulb is having an existential crisis. Write a monologue from an inanimate object that can't understand why it exists.
27. The Wrong Life
You woke up this morning and you're not you. You're someone else. A different body. A different name. A different history. Write about the disorientation—and the weird relief of it not being your problem.
28. The Invisible Man
You're invisible. No one can see you. You walk through the world unnoticed. What do you do? What do you say? Does it change anything?
29. The Dream Within a Dream
You're dreaming. You wake up. You're still dreaming. You wake up again. You're still dreaming. Write about the endless layers—and the possibility that you'll never truly wake.
30. The Factory
You're in a factory. You don't know what's being made. No one knows. Everyone just works. The conveyor belt moves. Nothing changes. Write about the factory and the meaninglessness of the production.
31. The Carnival
You're at a carnival. Everything is bright. Everything is loud. Everyone is laughing. But it's all fake. The games are rigged. The rides are unsafe. The joy is manufactured. Write about the carnival—and how it's a metaphor for everything.
32. The Endless Hallway
You're in a hallway. It goes on forever. Doors line the walls. You open one. It's another hallway. You open another. More hallways. Write about the search for the door that actually leads somewhere.
ANGLE 5: DEFIANT JOY
For poems that accept the absurd—and laugh anyway.
33. The Party at the End of the World
The world is ending. The asteroid is coming. What do you do? Describe a party. People dancing. Laughing. Eating. Celebrating. Why? Because why not?
34. A Dance with the Void
The void is here. It's cold. It's empty. You ask it to dance. It doesn't move. You dance anyway. Write about the dance.
35. The Meaningless Celebration
Write about something joyful that has no deeper meaning. A sunny day. An ice cream cone. A good song. Describe it with total sincerity—and then acknowledge that it means nothing, and that's what makes it perfect.
36. The Best Meal of Your Life
Describe a meal that was perfect. It was just food. It changed nothing. It solved no problems. But it was perfect. Write about the sacredness of the meaningless.
37. The Goodbye
You're saying goodbye to someone you love. You won't see them again. Eventually, you'll both die. Eventually, no one will remember. Write about the goodbye—and the beauty of meaning it anyway.
38. The Sunrise
It happens every day. It has happened for billions of years. It will happen for billions more. It doesn't care about you. But you saw it. Write about the indifference of the sunrise—and your decision to love it anyway.
39. The Joke
Tell a joke that means nothing. Then write a poem about why that joke—that meaningless joke—mattered more than any serious thing you've ever said.
40. The Ant
Watch an ant. It's carrying a crumb. It's struggling. It's determined. It has no idea it's being watched. It has no idea what the crumb is for. It just carries. Write about the ant. You are the ant. The crumb is everything. The crumb is nothing.
Famous Absurdist Poems (For Inspiration)
These poets have stared into the void and come back with words. Read them—then write your own.
"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" – T.S. Eliot
Prufrock is the ultimate absurdist hero. He's paralyzed by meaninglessness. He's measured out his life in coffee spoons. He's afraid to ask the big questions—so he asks small ones. The poem is a masterpiece of anxiety, inaction, and the quiet desperation of a man who knows nothing matters and can't decide what to do about it.
Key lines:
"I have measured out my life with coffee spoons"
"Do I dare / Disturb the universe?"
"In the room the women come and go / Talking of Michelangelo."
"The Waste Land" – T.S. Eliot
The ultimate poem of post-World War I absurdity. Civilization is crumbling. Language is breaking down. Meaning is gone. Eliot borrows from myth, religion, and pop culture to create a collage of a world that has lost its way.
Key line:
"April is the cruellest month"
"The Jumblies" – Edward Lear
Lear was the king of nonsense poetry. His "Jumblies" go to sea in a sieve. It's ridiculous. It's pointless. They don't care. They're happy. The poem is pure absurdist joy.
Key lines:
"They went to sea in a Sieve, they did, / In a Sieve they went to sea: / In spite of all their friends could say, / On a winter's morn, on a stormy day, / In a Sieve they went to sea!"
"For their minds are made up, and they'll see it through."
"The Jabberwocky" – Lewis Carroll
Carroll made up words. Nonsense words. But the poem has structure, rhythm, and meaning—of a kind. It's a story about slaying a monster. But the monster is "frumious." The swords are "vorpal." It's absurd. It's beautiful. It works.
Key lines:
"'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves / Did gyre and gimble in the wabe."
"And the mome raths outgrabe."
"This is Just to Say" – William Carlos Williams
This poem is an apology for eating plums. That's it. And it's one of the most famous poems in American literature. It has no deep meaning. It's just a note. And that's the point.
The entire poem:
"I have eaten / the plums / that were in / the icebox
and which / you were probably / saving / for breakfast
Forgive me / they were delicious / so sweet / and so cold."
"The Snow Man" – Wallace Stevens
Stevens writes about being "nothing himself"—a man who looks at winter and sees only winter, without metaphor, without meaning. It's the ultimate poem of the indifferent universe.
Key lines:
"One must have a mind of winter / To regard the frost and the boughs / Of the pine-trees crusted with snow"
"And, nothing himself, beholds / Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is."
How to Use These Prompts: A Method
- Pick ONE prompt that feels uncomfortable. Absurdism lives in discomfort.
- Set a timer for 15 minutes. The time pressure keeps you from overthinking—and overthinking is the enemy of absurdism. Just write.
- Let it be weird. If it doesn't make sense, keep going. Absurdism doesn't have to be logical. It just has to be honest.
- Find the humor. Absurdism isn't just bleak. There's laughter in the void. Can you find it? Can you let it out?
- Find the joy. The defiant joy. The "Sisyphus is happy" energy. That's what elevates absurdism above nihilism.
- Revise tomorrow. Let the weirdness settle. Then sharpen it. Give it shape. Make the nonsense make sense—in a nonsensical way.
- Submit it. Your absurdist poem belongs in the world. Submit it to our [Absurdism] category and let the universe not care.
Final Words: The Dance with the Void
Absurdist poetry doesn't promise answers. It doesn't offer comfort. It doesn't pretend the universe cares about your problems.
But it does offer something more valuable: freedom.
Freedom from the pressure to be meaningful. Freedom from the need to have purpose. Freedom to just be—and to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.
Albert Camus said: "The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy."
Your poem doesn't need to change the world. It doesn't need to save anyone. It doesn't need to be remembered.
It just needs to be written.
So write.
Submit Your Absurdist Poem
The void is waiting. It doesn't care what you write. It doesn't care if you write at all. That's exactly why you should write anyway.
Submit your poem to the [Absurdism] category below. Let the absurdity be seen.
Resources for Further Reading
| Resource | Why It's Helpful |
|---|---|
| The Myth of Sisyphus by Albert Camus | The absurdist bible. Read the essay that started it all. |
| Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett | The quintessential absurdist play. Nothing happens. Twice. |
| The Poetry of T.S. Eliot | The master of modern absurdity. Read Prufrock and The Waste Land. |
| Nonsense Poetry (Edward Lear, Lewis Carroll) | Absurdism doesn't need to be dark. Sometimes it's just playful. |
| The Stranger by Albert Camus | The novel that shows absurdism in action—a man who doesn't care about anything. |
The universe is silent. The void is vast. Your poem won't change that.
But it'll make the silence a little more interesting.
Did this article help you stare into the void? Share your absurdist poem on Inktella. We can't wait to see what you've found in the nothingness.
