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The mean old man,
he’s serving food.
I’m not a fan
of how he’s rude.

His angry voice
and bitter way,
give me no choice
but stay away.

I dare not feel
his rotten soul.
Such icy steel
just takes its toll.

If I avoid
while he prepares,
I’m less annoyed
in vile he shares.

And so I wait
for him to go.
And play with fate
I do not know.
This poem was inspired by a poet on hello poetry. I live in a group home. A lot of the food is not that bad. It’s the attitude of many of the chefs that really ruin the eating experience. There is not much I can do about it. I just have to wait and hope things get better.
  17h Jason Aull
Lee
Stand up straight, don’t make a face,
Fix your collar—know your place.
Hands behaved, don’t drag your feet,
A perfect child, so small, so neat.
Smile wide, let no one see,
The part of you that isn’t free.
A family framed, so proud, so tall,
A happy home—or so they call.
Green velour, a little grin,
Hiding everything within.
A flash, a snap, a moment caught,
A memory you never sought.
They see love, they see grace,
They never saw the other face.
The one that flinched, the one that knew,
What happened right before the view.
So up it hung, so big, so bright,
A picture bathed in perfect light.
And there you are, still frozen in time,
Smiling like you’re doing fine.
The last family photo we took, i was about 7, i was wearing a green velour suit, my brothers, my sister, my step dad, my mom and new baby brother.  right before the photo i got in trouble, i was probably being uncooperative or didnt want to smile idk, but i got handled, and then right before the photo, i "fixed my face" and they got the photo, that photo hung in our house, every time i see it to this day, i see how i was crying, i see how I'm barely holding it together and i see how we all look so happy and well behaved but we were really just under control.
Life can be tough.
That’s just how it goes.
Sometimes it’s enough
to drag you through lows.

Sometimes all you know
is pain and its sting.
Sometimes life will throw
just about anything.

It’s all for your good.
But it won’t seem that way.
It’s all understood
as a plan rotten day.

Looking back you will see
the gem hell will give.
But for now it will be
just a crap way to live.
This came to me as I was going to bed. I often get second thoughts about sharing my poetry. I get some acceptance but a ton of rejection. About half the people where I live don’t want to hear it whatever it happens to be. Over time it has a severe eroding effect on my confidence as a poet.
The sun grows warm,
so trees will bloom.
Winter crawls back to his tomb.
The leaf grows green
to now be seen.
Good riddance to the cold and gloom.
The flowers dawn
in colored dress.
So simply does their hue impress.
As Nature sings,
her beauty springs;
from such a bitter hard duress.
I’m sure you guys wanted to get more poetry from me. I have issues with social anxiety.
"Man's biological nature is such, that reason cannot always guide his behavior."
Raymond Aron.


Distrust "nature" — on fools she plays,
Her rest lies in their flaws concealed.
The world is mad, and not in jest;
When Spirit falls, the Abyss is revealed.

It's not cold reason that inspires,
But Spirit pure that leads us through.
Though now you burn in hellish fires,
Stand strong in Spirit, not subdue.


In Russian:

Не доверяй "природе"

"Биологическая природа человека такова, что его поведение не может всегда мотивироваться рассудком.".
Раймон Арон.


Не верь "природе" — на уроде
Век отдыхает уж она.
Безумен мир, и то не ВРОДЕ:
Коль Дух похерен, ужас Дна.

Не мотивация рассудка,
А Чистый Дух всех нас спасёт.
Пускай сейчас ты в Аде жутком,
Коль Духом крепок, всё пройдёт.
Jason Aull Jan 7
Joe the red ate lots of bread.
His massive gut was quite well fed.
So slow his feet, to cross the street,
that angry drivers wished him dead.
A limerick I came up with a long time ago. I’m not an expert on limericks. I just assume this is how they go.
A nasal drone of endless lies
Pours into slaves’ distracted ears.
While watchful cops, with eager eyes,
Defend the chains and stoke the fears.


In Russian:

Пропагандоны и полицаи

Гундос понос словесный валит
На уши суетных рабов.
А полицай всех прытких жалит
В защите всех "святых" оков.

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