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Feb 2016 · 467
Jested in the Digital Age
Stanley Zakyich Feb 2016
I'm addicted to knowledge,
and so helpless to absorbing it
that falsities and mistaken truths
will make their home in memory,
only to be brought out
to make me the jested.
All can serve on a jury,
judge my errors, spread more
into the world, to abhor
and be abhorred
by the bullies and the bored.
Save me from this world of waste,
this constant copy and paste
of information with haste.

Social media stories with pictures and lies to enthrall,
The Digital Age will make false prophets of us all.
Comments about this Digital Age and how stories are spread for the desperate need for viral content for marketing purposes.

Inspired by this article: http://www.cracked.com/photoplasty_761_the-22-most-misleading-viral-photos-explained/
Jun 2014 · 380
A Dip Into Tideland
Stanley Zakyich Jun 2014
My belt
Holding my sleeve,
Holding my needs,
Giving my dreams
The life they deserve.
The title is in reference to the movie "Tideland", where the dad is a ****** addict.
May 2014 · 524
The Failed Runner
Stanley Zakyich May 2014
Coaches giving their good graces
As the runners approach the painted asphalt.
Memories race through past races,
Through every failure. They're all my fault.
Sweat drips past my timid eyes
As I see the confidence shine in everyone else.
I ready my stance with stomach's butterflies,
And the announcer screams alongside school bells,
"GO!"
The others run with all their might,
While my ankle is bound by the starting line.
I struggle with the racing track's fight
As everyone passes for their second lap's time.
May 2014 · 7.3k
Stagnation
Stanley Zakyich May 2014
An ecosystem found upon
An outer crust of dust
Inside abode without a lawn
With tenant taming rust.

Sitting stagnant, songs of stellar
Sing sublime lines
Through minds that remain in cellar,
Never seeing the pines.

Many stagnant years have passed,
Detectives overdue,
The body brought them all aghast,
The stench, the dust, and view.

An ecosystem found upon
An outer crust of dust
Inside abode without a lawn
With tenant taming rust.
Themes of isolation and the inability to move forward in life.

A man gives up on his dreams and sits still, dreaming of better days and trying to make the best of his situation without taking any actions. This leads to his death, and with "detectives overdue", the apartment becomes caked in a thick layer of dust, sprouting insects, spiders, and other miscellaneous creatures that can thrive in that sort of environment.
Mar 2014 · 1.7k
Decay
Stanley Zakyich Mar 2014
God of Luck, please keep us in mind
As the rest of society falls behind;
Their souls all signed to goals refined
To the devilish needs, to find bold minds

Anti-eccliastical, non-canonical,
catastrophic bull misfit ****.
Anathemas make paths for us.
So thunderous, their misfit ****.

God of Fate, please choose the path
That's best for us. Please set up the math
With a positive answer, without this cancer
In body and soul. No necromancer's

Anti-eccliastical, non-canonical,
catastrophic bull misfit ****.
Anathemas make paths for us.
So thunderous, their misfit ****.

O' Cursed God, please stray from me!
Please stray from all of those in need.
The cursed souls, they bow to you.
Please stop my bowing, don't make me choose

Anti-eccliastical, non-canonical,
catastrophic bull misfit ****.
Us anathemas make paths, we must.
So thunderous, our misfit ****.
Set in a universe I created where the God of Luck, God of Fate, and the Cursed God all reign supreme, we have a man who has difficulty coping with the world he lives in. Though he prays to the God of Luck of God of Fate, he still becomes consumed by the temptation of evil and turns into one of those outcasted from the followers of Luck and Fate.
Feb 2014 · 349
A Little Love for Our Site
Stanley Zakyich Feb 2014
I admire Hello Poetry's
New attire,
With drop-down menu
And search bar for you
To easily browse and love
Your favorite poetry.
Classic Poets for me,
**Yes please!
I haven't been on Hello Poetry in a while, but now that I have come back, I'm loving the new layout. Good job to all who helped with it!
Dec 2013 · 727
The Disposable Dog I Am
Stanley Zakyich Dec 2013
Articles of these dire times
Remind me of my soul's state.
It tries to fly, though misguided by
The pursuits of materialism and "joy",
But it chokes on the band. With leash in hand,
My master demands I obey his commands.
"Sit", "Shake", "Give the rich your money".
Never to reach the land of milk and honey,
My soul lays tied to the ground, reading
Articles of these dire times.
We're slaves of consumerism and celebrate the overgrowth of capitalism (emphasis on overgrowth. I like capitalism, but to an extent).
Dec 2013 · 335
This I See As I Walk By
Stanley Zakyich Dec 2013
"Respect Yourself."
Passing words from a yellow car
inspiringly raised society's bar.
Where, instead of an ad,
words of wisdom to mental health
Have lifted those the car have passed.
Hope for this world, at long last.
Oct 2013 · 842
The Need For Intelligence.
Stanley Zakyich Oct 2013
I spat out quotes and poetic verses,
Despite how everyone else converses.
I hoped that brains will win the war,
But I never had any brains at all.

I spat out quotes and poetic verses,
Despite how everyone else converses.
I hoped my brains will take me far,
But I never had any brains at all.

I spat out quotes and poetic verses,
Despite how everyone else converses.
I'm stuck here, ****** here, quoting still,
But I never had any brains at all.

I spat out quotes and poetic verses,
Despite how everyone else converses.
My brains are gone with atrophied will,
But I never had any brains at all.

On my tombstone lies a quote
From verses other people wrote.
A lackluster creative must
Existed within; my internal, eternal, rust.
I've always tried to sound smart by quoting books or poems, reciting history books and retelling stories. It takes some intelligence to memorize, but it takes a lot more to create and to constantly push yourself to be more creative.
Jul 2013 · 360
10w - A Reminder to Myself.
Stanley Zakyich Jul 2013
Hate,
Bottled up inside
To commemorate
My greed and pride.
May 2013 · 2.5k
Meaningful Conversation.
Stanley Zakyich May 2013
I run through dialogues
in my mind
as a way to communicate
with someone,
though imaginary as they may be,
my thoughts and feelings
on subjects, of which
I am lost.

"I have no other means,
no friends,
no families,
of which I may defenestrate
these ideas
through the windows of my soul."

"These fires have started
and started to spread
and started to burn my sanity's thread.
My sweater has come off again.
Lying naked in conflagration,
When will I be saved?
When my savior comes,
Sweater undone,
How should I behave?"

I talk to this nobody,
this fool on the hill,
and smile alone
in my empty home.
May 2013 · 413
My Own Psychologist
Stanley Zakyich May 2013
I know of problems
I do possess.
I can not fix them
Or lay them to rest.
With no one around,
And without wealth,
I look to the ground
And talk to myself.
May 2013 · 577
More Self-loathing
Stanley Zakyich May 2013
Mistakes are throbbing in my head.
I feel the hate from all the dead:
The scientists who brought us life
That we live now to such great heights,
The doctors that have kept alive
Our fam'ly, friends, and pets alike,
Philosophers expanding minds
Of generations, now not blind,
And farmers bringing us our food,
Improving diets and our mood.
I'm feeling all their hate on me,
This waste of space,
nothing-to-be.
Iambic tetrameter
May 2013 · 1.2k
Inferiority Complex [10w]
Stanley Zakyich May 2013
Inferiority Complex withholds goals.
The fear of failure averts gold!
Though you may fail once or twice, or maybe a lot, you'll never succeed if you never try.
Stanley Zakyich May 2013
My voice will ne'er begin to sing
Songs with grace that operas bring.
My hands will ne'er begin to draw
Portraits of the utmost raw
Of feelings.
Reelings of a film un-made
Left in my mind as shades of grey
That will indubitably blend
To make nothing.

I wish to make amends,
though shades of grey have doomed me.
My pessimism consumes me,
but I wish to make amends.
I guess it all depends
If the Talents fly back home
To visit me again.
Apr 2013 · 604
Early Alzheimer's
Stanley Zakyich Apr 2013
A measly mind that falls behind
Every waking day.
Machinery grind and workers lined,
But no product made.

A CEO with a gusto
Simply at his desk.
Books all around, all leather bound,
Instead stays grotesque.
Feb 2013 · 419
Dreams Never to be Seen
Stanley Zakyich Feb 2013
My dreams shall never be
Here, in reality, with me,
But instead stuck in pretend,
In the worlds developed
Inside my mind while I sleep;
Outshined and behind
The dreams of others,
My ambitions and goals
Remain in submission
In the subconscience of my mind;
Remain behind, my dreams of gold,
Never to be let out to shine;
Remain behind, these dreams of old,
Always to be resigned.
Feb 2013 · 438
The Great Divide
Stanley Zakyich Feb 2013
I see those around me continue on with their important lives.
I see through spectacles them wanting to return to wives
And daughters and sons and husbands who all strive
To make the best out of the life given to them, and
To improve on it even further. I see through slurs
And drunken murmurs and I do not understand
Why they are given the opportunities I am not.
Am I not worthy? Am I deserving of my rot?
I see those around me continue to live
As I wait for my life to finally end,
For the flicker of my lament
To be freed of the cement
That glue my shoes
To the ground;
And finally...
*Ascension.
The title "The Great Divide" is inspired by one of my favorite movies "The Land Before Time". In the movie, a massive earthquake divides the land, separating the dinosaur children from their families, called "The Great Divide". I use that term not to say that I'm isolated from my family, but that I'm isolated from everyone.
Feb 2013 · 668
Weakening Hope
Stanley Zakyich Feb 2013
These walls can not fortify
Like they once could;
They can not protect me
From the outsiders
And they can not protect
The outsiders from myself.
Spears have been thrown
And rocks chucked,
but nothing has been able
to topple this fortress
like what has happened on this day.

The borders of these bricks
Are beginning to crumble.
I hope that, beyond these mumbles,
I have words that will make me fixed.
Feb 2013 · 758
I Hate Customers
Stanley Zakyich Feb 2013
These little things I care for
Will mean nothing when I'm gone;
They won't cast a new dawn
Onto these people I adore.

Yet I care, and I do so more
When I'm escaping from my life.
I listen to my music and wife
As we both remain poor.

"Welcome, sir!" "How do you do?"
"What you like a bag with that?"
I hand the bag to a man of fat,
Surprised he can fit through the door,
Surprised he didn't crack the floor,
My hatred for man continues.

I arrive at my abode
And continue these little things;
O' the happiness they bring!
I can feel my life corrode...
Feb 2013 · 607
Pondering this Ending Day
Stanley Zakyich Feb 2013
I broke his shell.
Once he cracked,
There was no turning back
when he released his inner hell.
Earning my money,
I did not back down
from his hurtful adjectives and nouns.
At least now it's funny.

...

I sit in comfort
pondering this ending day
and hope that tomorrow will,
at least,
end the same way,
with my love at my side
saying everything will be okay -
And I coincide.
Feb 2013 · 1.1k
Ms. Flibbertigibbet
Stanley Zakyich Feb 2013
Flibbertigibbet speaks of the moon
and all that lies beneath.
"Jimminy-Cricket, why so soon?"
"My, what a wondrous wreath!"

"Beautiful picket!" Said to the man
She slept with just last week.
"Care for a biscuit?" Inviting him in,
Making gossip as she shrieks.

"Flibbertigibbet," Still in the bed,
"How did you like it now?"
Dressed as a misfit, "It was whatever."
Adultery tickled her brow.

Flibbertigibbet speaks of the moon
and all that lies beneath.
She speaks of the man cheating on his wife
To gossip, and without grief.
Flibbertigibbet - a chattering or flighty, light-headed person.
Stanley Zakyich Feb 2013
In the morning, children playing.
In the night, adults are wailing.
Another fight, doors slam loudly;
Their voices rip, screaming proudly.
Silence of the nights begin,
But when I wake,
My kingdom shakes -
The cacophonies start again.
My daily life at the apartment complex. I hate these neighbors.
Jan 2013 · 366
.10w.
Stanley Zakyich Jan 2013
Desperate, famishing beasts sniff my head
As I barely sleep.
Jan 2013 · 494
I Am Sedate.
Stanley Zakyich Jan 2013
The words they left me
Left me pensive.
The birds that pass me
Left me passive.
I simply don't know
How to react
Or if I should at all...
Jan 2013 · 519
Accidental Messages.
Stanley Zakyich Jan 2013
These belligerent diatribes,
Sneaking through our thoughts in ways
So we don't know it's there,
Speaking for us in films and plays
And caught us unaware
Of our own mind.
Freudian Slip.
Jan 2013 · 727
I Am Alone Again.
Stanley Zakyich Jan 2013
Isolophobia,
Isolated as my main -phobia,
Is heating up with an incendiary rush.

I gather all my plush
And talk about the lush
Who doesn't really live next door,
But I'd rather they not be bored
With my lack of dialogue.

I distract myself;
I clean the kitchen, I fix the shelf
That's been crooked for weeks,
I notice that my life has peaked
And I gather all my plush again.

Every story has an end,
And as I approach it, I choke.
I speak of how I'm completely broke,
And it's when they ask me, "Why?"
Do I realize that I have no control
And it's my lack thereof
That is driving me insane.

I bury myself inside my head,
Forever being alone instead
Of losing the ones I love again.
Every story has an end,
And as I approach it, I choke.
A story of a person with many phobias and is trying to deal with all of him/herself. As they gradually step closer and closer to insanity, they finally break.
Dec 2012 · 3.5k
Hunger for Her Happiness
Stanley Zakyich Dec 2012
My body wishes for nutrition,
but it does not know the meaning of frugality.
Only my mind knows the meaning, and keeps my body at bay.
My body will say,
"Feed me, feed me, feed me!",
but my mind's rejection will not falter,
for the Happiness of my love
makes the means to receive it without err.
Dec 2012 · 1.1k
Of Kids and Kin.
Stanley Zakyich Dec 2012
The leaves are tumbling
through homes of old
and hardship and cold.
The trees are dieing.
The leaves escape
through neighborhoods sold.
Graffiti and glass
cover the asphalt,
exalting these homes of old
and hardship and cold.
The leaves rustle by,
but break under shoes
of forgotten crews,
but cheer has spread
thanks to these leaves.
The kids laugh together
and live life with ease,
without regulation
and not being controlled.
They fend for themselves
in these homes of old
and kinship and cold.
Dec 2012 · 770
We Are Not True Poets.
Stanley Zakyich Dec 2012
In the hopes of melodramatic expression,
We use overused combinations of words
To cook overcooked works of "completion",
But we never truly grasp
The hand of death,
Nor have we truly grasped
The possibilities this universe,
Or even beyond what this universe,
Provides.

We bounce the ball of clever word-play
On the playground of our understanding,
And though our playground's small,
We aggrandize it to be more;
In our heads, it reaches the shore,
And we play even in the fall
When we're not supposed to, sanding
down the ball with our bounces and our days.

Whether we wish for certain weather
To rain or shine on our heads,
Few will have that weather affect them
When they do not wish it so,
And they will be in the know.
They will hear the thunder through their phlegm
And they're the only ones to tell of it on their death bed.
They're the true poets, not us, whose spirits are still light as a feather.
This poem discusses how, though we write poetry, there are few who are great poets. I describe a great poet as being one who writes about the tragedies inflicting them, or who writes about knowledge that they can truly understand from their experience. There are some out there who claim to be a great poet simply because they write about their bad days, but I know that they secretly wish for those days simply so they can write about them. Great poets are not desperate for attention, but are instead simply venting their emotions.
Dec 2012 · 512
Concrete Depiction of Evil
Stanley Zakyich Dec 2012
A
                     Two-
             Horned
     Figure*
Takes
Notes
On our lives
And
see our days
With      husbands
And       wives and
Kids       that will
Grow     to know
Of his      existence.
My first shot at concrete poetry. The image is supposed to half of Satan, as if peaking from the shadows. The italicized lines are one of his horns, the bold is his body, and the regular, unformatted text represents his arm.

My works lately have been revolving around Christian themes because in recent years, my brother has become a very strict and devout Christian. I myself am not a Christian, but since I grew up in a Christian household, I know enough to write the kind of poetry to make myself feel closer to my brother.
Dec 2012 · 1.0k
Harbor Away My Guilt
Stanley Zakyich Dec 2012
"Harbor away my guilt, oh please.
I'm folding my hands and on my knees,
But if you can't, then through the trees
I go so that I may meet the seas."

"Harbor away my guilt!" I cry.
I fold my hands as body lie
on dampened pillow with dark sky
illuminating its bluish dye.

"Harbor away my guilt!" They hear,
Yet plenty scared to dare come near.
They fear that they may commandeer
The privacy of the man in tears.

"Harbor away my guilt," He wrote.
He put on his suit and then his coat.
He walked through the trees, those saddened oaks,
And became one with the sinking boats...
Nov 2012 · 529
A New Generation
Stanley Zakyich Nov 2012
"They're awake while we're sleeping," we said, we said.
While we were sleeping, we bled, we bled.
We awoke in the next,
according to holy text,
in heaven with Jesus. The wine, the bread.

"They're awake while we're sleeping," we read, we read.
"I didn't expect it," we said, we said.
They slit our throats,
put us in boats,
after taking us out of our beds, our beds.

"They're awake while we're sleeping," they jeered, they jeered.
"We got them so good!" They sneered, they sneered.
"Imagine the cries
of their daughters and wives!"
They laughed so hard, they teared, they teared.

'They're awake while we're sleeping,' They thought, they thought.
The desire for sleep was naught, was naught.
Death was their fear,
what made them tear,
and suicide suited the lot, the lot.

"They're awake while we're sleeping!" They cried, they cried.
Dancing in circles. They lied, they lied.
They lie to their prey
Before they lay
their heads to rest, to rest.

"They're awake while we're sleeping!" He said, he said.
The TV announcer just led, just led,
The people to believe
the children and leave
them alone while their plot to thread, to thread.

"They're awake while we're sleeping," we believed, we believed.
We thought the children were grieved, were grieved.
We didn't give it thought.
We thought we'd rather not.
Because we did not
give it the proper thought
Our death we let them perceive. Perceive.
Stanley Zakyich Nov 2012
A string of words that flow like the rivers,
Showing enough thought to provide the shivers.
Reflections of the poet within,
The type thrown out in the garbage bin
Or the type framed and hung on the wall.
There's a poet within us all.

Not all are eager to show their inner poet,
But would rather let it set sail
As rivers stream from their eyes
Due to the symbolic lie
They believe, making them pale
As, with their sorrow, they wallow it.

Patronizing executives and farmers
Believe their exterior would be shattered
If their inner poet let slip.
Once somebody gives them lip,
They harden as if it mattered
And equip their shields and armors.

The Spartan with the inner-Athenian
Would be killed by his friends
If they knew who he was on the inside.
This fills him with fear.
He keeps his ears open to hear
If anyone is coming as he hides
So his poetry will have its end
Before this war with the Peloponnesians.

Such beauty gone to waste
All because this facade of masculinity
Everyone puts on to protect themselves
From the beasts in this society
That would love to shatter those dreams.
Artists should gather in teams,
Ready to fight this anarchy
That would place our poetry on the shelves,
Collecting dust with haste.
*Collecting dust with haste.
Nov 2012 · 1.2k
Pitiful.
Stanley Zakyich Nov 2012
These eyes you seek
Belong to me,
Not you,
So let me tell you what I see;
~  ~  ~
A bleeding friend
Who says to me,
"*******,"
Then walks away all casually.
~  ~  ~
My closest neighbor
Who said to me,
"Thank you"
As I healed him magically.
~  ~  ~
A bleeding friend
Who says to me,
"Help me"
While screaming in agony.
~  ~  ~
My closest neighbor
Who said to me,
"Leave him."
But I helped you out of sympathy.
~  ~  ~
A bleeding friend
Who asked me,
"Why?"
But I couldn't find an answer.
~  ~  ~
My closest neighbor
Who asked me,
"Why?"
But I couldn't find an answer...
~  ~  ~
A bond of friendship
Can be mended,
But to me it's not
Recommended.
History repeats itself.
Nov 2012 · 1.6k
This Starry Night
Stanley Zakyich Nov 2012
The power's out, I see them now;
They're lighting up the sky.
An hour 'bout, I don't know how,
Has quickly passed us by.
Those kids will shout, but they will learn,
And hopefully their parents yearn
For wealth to crumble up and burn
While staring at this starry sky.

The businesses' sarcophagi
Has no more stranglehold
On us for now, though soon it's nigh
To lose ourselves in bold-
ened signs that tell us what to do
And what to buy and who to sue.
But let's not worry, let's renew
While staring at this starry sky.
A poem about letting go of all worries and appreciating the simple things in life, like being able to see the stars in the sky. Main character sits with his girlfriend to appreciate the tranquility of the present. Comments about the neighbors, big businesses, and the economy help paint the picture of the setting a little bit, hinting towards being poor.
Stanley Zakyich Nov 2012
My body's so weak,
But my eyes are not closing.
The stories I seek
Aren't seen for weeks.
Ev'ry night is always bleak
In my dreamland Xanadu,
Where prose is always posing
Without a single clue;
Contortions of meek
And humble banter stew
That will never do
Political shrieks,
But yet is self-exposing.

My body's so weak,
I think I'm decomposing.
My eyes aren't closing...
This poem continues my present trend of poetry where my lack of sleep and lack of dreaming takes place as the main subjects.

"The stories I seek/ Aren't seen for weeks" deals with my lack of dreams when I finally do get to sleep.

Xanadu is the place of an *****-influenced dream Samuel Taylor Coleridge had, resulting in the poem "Kubla Khan". The mention of Xanadu is supposed to take flight to the dream-like state of mind, resulting in odd choices of descriptive language and a sort of ranting.

"Where prose is always posing" is describing the influence of the poem, saying that prose is constantly forming in my dreams. Two lines later, the word "Contortions" is used to describe the type of posing the prose is doing, saying that the poetry is confusing, incomplete, and/or twisted.

"[M]eek/ And humble banter stew" is describing the tone most of my poetry has, saying that it gives off polite and humble undertones while the sentence structure is "banter". The word choice of "stew" pertains to the definition, "A state of agitation, uneasiness, or worry." So meek and humble banter, but filled with agitation, uneasiness, or worry.

"That will never do/ Political shrieks,/ But yet is self-exposing." Is saying that I won't resort to talking about politics in my poetry (I think very negatively about bringing politics into such a beautiful medium, hence the word choice "shrieks"), but by bringing up the subject of politics at all, I poked fun at myself with "But yet is self-exposing." I'm playfully teasing my own poetry.

Each line either has 5 or 7 syllables per line, but I chose not to bother with a meter; I felt too much organization would both limit what I had to say and also give it a much less worrisome feel to it.

"Stew to Stories, Maybe Soon..." is me saying that I hope my sleeping problems will be resolved and will stop worrying me.
Nov 2012 · 2.2k
The Need for Change
Stanley Zakyich Nov 2012
Stagnancy leads to control and exploitation.
Without the flows of change within
Our society, we can't hope to
Reinvigorate ourselves and
Dig ourselves out of this
Everlasting pit of
D**esolation.
Nov 2012 · 2.2k
My Mistakes
Stanley Zakyich Nov 2012
With all this bad, there must good
Or so I have understood.
I have been through so much pain,
But where is all I should have gained?

God of Fate, such cruelty,
Filled with hate aimed right at me.
No gold under this rainbow,
Just a couple feet of snow.

I know I have daftly erred,
I am righteousness impaired,
But for me to go through this?
Please, give me a deathly kiss.
Oct 2012 · 1.8k
I Lay There
Stanley Zakyich Oct 2012
I lay there, just counting the spots on the ceiling,
reflecting upon this remote little feeling.
I toss in the bed and I try now to slumber,
but sleep will not come to me; sleep never does.

I try to stand straight but I notice I'm leaning.
I'm speaking these words and I don't know their meaning.
A smile is forming without any reason;
to keep up appearances, no clue to why.

I ask if you know where the keys are a hanging.
“They’re hung by the door,” as the fireworks are banging.
Explosions are filling my head like a thunder,
And sleep will not come to me; sleep never does.

I wake from the tossing and turning and dreaming.
The sunlight reflects off the moon and it’s beaming.
I look at her, smile, and I know there’s no treason.
Such happiness fills me and sleep comes at last.
After having trouble sleeping and trying to find out why, I thought maybe my depression had some connection to it; in this poem, that connection is indeed the problem. Originally inspired by a song my dad wrote.

— The End —