A squirrel offered me
              a *******.

But just fondled my
            Nuts the whole time ..

Chatterbox, face-to-face
Nine o'clock, brace the pace
Sign the docs, stop the chase
I quit! You're a disgrace.

Allegation: "double agent?"
Your brain is too ancient
Keep testing my patience
I'm done! from your insulting statement.

Nothing you say, can rearrange my perception
I ain't got time, for your desperate deception
Suffered enough, running out of option
Uncaged! Claiming liberation.

Help! Someone hand me a knife. Help me cut away the binds holding me hostage by parody and strife.

I'm bound, leather cuts against my skin, the pages filled with word counts wreck my mind from within.

You see what started as a hobby ballooned into a full time obligation, with deadlines, dollar signs,  and a **** ton of manipulation.

I'm restless but full of rest, like Gatsby within and without, I'm bored of doing the same thing all day but never gaining any clout.

There's a system in my mind that tries to comprehend this restless feeling I feel will never end.

So I'm resounded to spewing my words online, the only place that welcomes the madness of my mind.

If you happen upon this jumbled mess, please send me a message and beg me to get some rest.

Until then, I'll be your green light on the dock, your key fitting every lock, your master of words and prose, your knight in shining armor fending off your foes.

I'll be here.

Living vicariously through you, hoping one day again, I'll find myself too.

we write now past anger,
but nearer to the closing

…

the period of our lives, here,
at the end of this poem

and with every day,
every word, every look,

i·so·la·tion
is now redefined as:

des·o·la·tion

(a state of complete emptiness or destruction barrenness bleakness starkness misery melancholy gloom bareness dismalness grimness aridity sterility wildness anguished misery loneliness despondency despair distress)

now, it too is redefined as:

we can no longer look at our children faces...

More time.
More effort.
More.
Time.
More.
Effort.
More.
Time.
More.
Effort.
Your feelings?
Irrelevant.
Your personal life?
Nonexistent.
*** in seat.
Blurry face.
Say nothing.
Be nobody.
Make less than everybody else.
Sell your soul.
What you do is important.
If you don't do it, someone else will.

It's not your job to prove them wrong.
Sometimes, just walking away
Says more than words ever could.
It's not your job to fight
In a fight that's not yours.
But sometimes, it's what's right.
It's not your job to forgive someone
Or take them back.
Listen to your heart,
You will be on the right track.
Your only job is to be yourself.
To do what's best for you, your health,
Your happiness.

I write this knowing that
I don’t have much time left
With the time I have
I’ll tell you my story

Born and raised in Boston
Moved to New York City
Met a girl, fell in love
Got a job as a lawyer

Fell out of love
Broke my leg
Quit my job
And here I am today

That is my story
Those are my words

The famished arrive in their cars,
a Mass, break the bread,
their jobs gone, pray,
brothers and sisters, pray

Selection Criteria

We seek a person showing an authentic engagement with the culture of language. The applicant needs a broad appreciation of linguistic form and an inclusive approach.

Essential:

• Two good honours degrees from a top performing university - Or relevant experience as an autodidact or dilitante.

• A willingness to appreciate and engage in other people's expression of poetic form.

• Openness to the ways in which language is multimodal and able to blur the distinction between word, voice, sound, body and image, whilst being able to draw upon the conventions of each mode.

Desirable:

• Colourful life-history, and a keen eye/ear for human and natural dynamics, and the capacity to dissolve the distinction.

Please submit sample below:

There was a tree. Indeed, there was a tree... that night we played with Gertrude or some girl or boy or some other echo or other.

Had she not mentioned the issue with the fragmentary interjections by candidates? The capacity of evocation is lost with this fashion for modernism [Golden light of blue buzzard and some such and wot not before azure cream in winter time and  crystalline glaze] and its reflexive interruptions. Perhaps she should start again. [Does it even need to be a word? And what is this anyway?]. Re: Start again - good lord we are forced to read some nonsense [in the steam rows and the bath cabin], often with a similar flow. What about the art of pleasing our palate? We bump our heads against the brackets, elliptical conjurings and compound punctuation: -

Oh! ... Out of time? Battery low? Well, this will have to be the submission then. Good luck.

22
First job out of school,
Tasting success
But with life I’m no fool,
Hard times have come before
And they surely will again,
Hard times presently upon us
And I’m now with the unemployed men,
Surely I’m frustrated
For this I cannot hide,
But I know life is a journey
And I must go with the tide,
As one door closes
Another shall shows it’s face,
Who are we as people
If we do not fall from grace,
In the cruelest moments of life
We learn who we truly are,
We must embrace hardship head-on
Not merely look from afar,
Staying down is easy
Resilience is the true test of man,
So I urge all to step up
Fight back against life as best you can,
For what is life without hurdles
But a meaningless quest,
Opportunity lies in the struggle
Belief in yourself will conquer the rest,
Hold tight to those you love
But believe better days will be here soon,
Never doubt yourself
You can reach beyond the moon,
Stay safe and strong my friend
For you will surely overcome,
Life is mysterious in its workings
But to despair we shall never succumb.