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Ces Sep 25
The optimist's naivete
is his fuel for living
I dare say relinquish such notions
of fairylands and Peter Pans
For the negative has truth
in itself
and there is beauty still
in a world of cruelty.
Norman Crane Sep 1
Mud bath
Doc Martens
                        Back of head
Off the beaten path
                        Still beaten
But at least not dead
*******, they said
Don't understand what I did
But was
Drowning in the ground
One day they'll come around
To me

Doc Martens
                        Back of head
Off the beaten path
                        Still,
                        Beate­n
Dead.
Inspired by several news stories about bullying. What struck me was the tragedy of the bullied person coming back, again and again, to the bullies, probably craving attention, perhaps hoping for eventual acceptance, and how that same need (to return, to be accepted) not only intensified the bullying but justified that intensity ("What did he expect? He kept coming back for more!") In the extreme case, the intensification resulted in death. The death itself was seemingly blamed in part on the victim ("Well, he didn't object to us doing X, so naturally we tried X+1. I guess it's sad that X+1 killed him, but all he had to do was [...] and he didn't, so, you know: he didn't save himself.") One of the acts of bullying that struck me was walking on the victim's body, especially across puddles, gravel and mud. I was also surprised by how poorly the bullies were able to explain why they chose their particular victims. Their explanations amounted to: (1) he existed, (2) he existed around us, (3) he kept existing around us despite what we were doing, and (4) he was weird.
Norman Crane Aug 27
He brought spiders to the schoolyard
      to crush them
He attended Julliard
      to learn Bach's partitas for violin
He pays women to undress for him
      and beats them
Knowing culture is a game
      we play
The boy and the man are the same
      composition
Performed in various ways
      the notes stubbornly remain
What's born cannot be changed
      one musical phrase
Nurture is Nature's
Dais
O Lord, I am human
Seeing cruelty perpetrated
I forget humanity
Desiring cruelty be revenged with cruelty
I am innocent
Please keep me innocent
And save me from being satan
Gabriel Aug 9
Herod’s fingers taste
of earthquakes, of disaster,
of the spit of the woman
he liked before me.

Potiphar’s coins ring
in my ears, on my fingers,
a pile of gold to drown
my splayed body in.

The two men play poker,
and I am the bargaining chip,
for their straight flush,
ashamed and disinterested.

Herod will not fold,
his pride venomous
against his meaty chest,
all wiry hairs and “I dare you”s.

Potiphar raises the stakes
with a flash of gold tooth,
and drags his finger along his neck,
slender and elongated.

The guillotine already feels familiar,
as the rules are plucked
like fresh grapes
or the only rotten part of the fig.

Herod beckons me forth
to look at his cards;
“yes,” I say,
“you are ruthless.”

Potiphar snatches me, now,
and I see his hand,
“yes,” I say,
“you are wise.”

Both men want something.
A prize to rip open
and sink their gluttonous lips into
like they do not know Daniel.

I want out of this room,
the sticky heat of summer
is beginning to upset
the restless lions.
From a collection of poetry I wrote for a creative writing portfolio in second year of university, titled 'New Rugged Cross'.
ShadowSpy Jul 18
Slash.
Dodge,
Jab.
The chance.
It will only come once.
But you let it go.
Mistake?
Maybe.
The chance.
Only this time, not for you.
It will only come once.
But they don't let it go.
Mistake?
You decide.
Ian Everett Jun 10
People are mean
they prey on weakness
they circle it
like buzzards to a dying goat,
People are mean
they hold each other down
whilst jumping ahead
like rats on a sinking ship,
People are mean
they change so slowly
and then they never look back
like slugs crawling at night
Invisible by dawn,
People are mean alright
They rob,
They ****,
They ******,
but the meanest thing of all
They ignore,
They ignore their neighbours
They ignore their family
They ignore their hearts
People are mean,
mean to themselves.
People are also capable of so much love.
Rose's poems May 31
I'm sad Benny
The world is sad Benny
Tell me how to help my brothers
Tell me how to help my sisters
Why must some feel dread to leave their homes?
Why must some feel fear to leave their homes?
Why must some be inherently disenfranchised
Stepped on
With knees upon their necks
I fear for our children's future
We know they won't come out as porcelain-skinned as society would like them to be
We know they will struggle
Inherently forced to struggle
What is the solution?
How do we make our daughters and sons feel equal?
How do we protect them from the world?
I want to keep them inside Benny
I fear for what they must face
I want them to stay pure and unharmed
I know this is selfish
I can't hide them from the world's cruelty
They need to face the world in order to better it
We must make it better for them
How do we make it better?
How can we make it better without completely restarting?
Without reconstructing it from its very roots
How do you alter a tree who's roots are already ten feet deep into the soil?
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