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Anemone Nov 2020
The High School for Crying
The College for Artists
who fear much more than dying

special skills
I can see things that are not there
I can take more than anyone can bear
I can work without lunch or dinner
I can let myself get thinner and thinner
I can suffer and still sing
I can be silent through almost everything

I will write until I ache
I will sing until I break
I will give more than I take
I will make a mistake


hold on

no, wait

please don't go

don't reject my resume

please no
Before my deoxyribonucleic code has been sent
To my mother by a male parent,
I was on his land of sand,
As barely apparent.


2. Then, I was finally sent
Into my female parent,
On another land,
Barely planned.

A couple of months went that I spent
In my mother's abdomen rent
On that green land,
Barely planned.

Then, my rentee went to that land,
Flying to the land of crescent
Where I was to be meant
For a big moment.


5. The event happened, the end of the rent,
Under the flag with the red crescent;
I was by a Jewish name penned,
On the fifth May after Lent.

Falling into my mother's hand,
Still without any dent,
Back, I was re-sent
To motherland.

On that land, red in discontent,
White until the Lent's end,
And green at Lent,
I had one parent.

I had no knowledge when he went,
But I was without a male parent,
With only two women, a grand-
And an abnormal parent.

His furious leaving left an advent
As my mother madwomaned
With a schizophrenic scent,
To madhouse "never" sent.

The balance keeping us under tent
Was our draconian grandparent
With an infinite financial grant
That let us live on that land.

For alms, we walked to granny frequent',
And I loved her as my parent
For that little attachment
I barely experienced.

The further notions I experienced:
I was sent and sent and sent;
Nursed, schooled, churched,
And kindergartened.

But even before my childhood could end,
I found myself hard to befriend;
Playing the play of a dement
With an unmatched brand.

A playful kid, maybe too vehement,
Among others, a crazy element,
I was, but inside silent,

I liked to observe others' comportment;
What was that I have been meant,
What made me outstand
Like an alien, mutant.

Step by step, I wished the end
Of flying dishes and plant'
At my domicile rent,
End of the torment.


17. I wished to vanish from the torment
Of social-antisocial banishment,
But I saw no escape slant,
Only in my poetic lament.

Though, before those sad lament,
I tried to see my life and mend
My heart with compliment,
Some failed love event.

Minutes, days, months and years went,
A lot of school skills that I learnt,
But the best one in my hand
Was the ability to pretend.

Even if I swam well in crosscurrent,
I wished to end, leave that land;
Searched by my male parent,
I planned to visit his land.

Then, my mother went to madhouse mend,
For what, I was by my university banned
To work that went well, but I meant
To start or end a life in sand.


22. So, as my twenty-first birthday present
Finally, I Africanly citizened
To know my descent
And the crescent.

Beyond the French and Arabic accent,
I manned myself on that land
Where I was landed and
It's not yet ended.

Changing the cross to crescent,
I could be happy and...
But people prevent
Every event.

I'd been married as I planned,
But my fam is an accident
As my birth in an extent,
In this actual land.

What to do, socially I try to pretend
That I am indeed an element,
But my DNA was meant
To disappointment.

(at present)

27. Seen these verses, it's abhorrent
As well as writing a lament,
But as a birthday present,
I wish a Happy - End.
My only birthday gift as usual, from me to myself.

Should I bring a résumé  of my dreams
to the publishing company on West 38th?

An abstraction of when my teeth
crumble like pastels, or summaries of my
vocal cords seeking air through a taut fabric.
I’ve achieved piercing silence in a room of white noise.

I have an impressive inventory of witnessing infidelity.
once, we were both in between romantic partners.
I was awakened by the taste of copper
from biting the inside of my cheek.
It looked worthy of an aged Merlot.

My most admirable skill is prediction.
I can sense a mass shooting or the expiring heart of a loved one.
but I usually float like an island over the scene
because my biggest weakness is lacking density.
Dev Nov 2018
While yes, I have a résumé
It does no justice describing mé

So I'll leave this here for all to see
All I ask is please hire me

I'm great with sales
and communication
I can create tales
with no hesitation

Been fixing PCs since '99
Right after I broke all of mine

I don't do drugs
I don't cause fights
I won't give shrugs
to new insights

I can Photoshop best selling ads
and tell corny jokes just like most dads

I write HTML
and CSS
I can kinda spell
At least try my best

Started my first business in 5th grade
Profiting from the paper airplane trade

I'm a fast learner,
a problem solver,
a trust earner,
an idea causer,
a spreadsheet slayer,
a real team player

While I'm no photography guru
I've actually had a paid gig or two

Dove into video editing
way back when MySpace was a thing

Oh yeah. Plus I'm proficient with Microsoft Office.
This is a work in progress but I'd love critiques like formatting, poetic grammar, etc. I may consider submitting this on job applications.
Robin Carretti May 2018
This is not
the time
for her
Resume  I- I sir_ with love
Above all

What do we write
Web-BITE He's
Beer In The Evening

And She's
Good Deeds__
Never love
Marilyn Monroe
**** white dress
going way up in flight
The candle in the wind
I presume
The artist
with all
her heart of
Show the rainbow

Love Firey Boom
Tulips reading her lips
Her garden Of Eve
Became toxic
Her love needs
be beautified
Taking some words
out that were lied
To be justified
Madonna wearing
her bustier
Lady Madona baby
at her breast
I presume she
the rest___

I assume love for all
poem requiem
The Italian art
of the Colesium
The ((Collegium))
college chicks

There is not fancy
words for spitting
Lady-like gum
I presume humbug
Her heirloom like
her resume's
Worthy every day
a Holiday

Everlasting embossed
fourteen karat gold
Abloom drawing
  The many types
of blood
Disguised costume
The court joined
judge Judy
Suspended resume
Boom all doomed
Nom De Flume
Girly powder room
Slender long
back room
He's her man is
there still room
The showroom
made a mob hit
The bridegrooms
nook back

The Gunroom
We need to get
gun control
Save everyone's
Too many
Loved ones are dying
help one another
So we can live more
Put ourselves
in a better world

The body and mind
Her resume
is like the
role of dice
A Resume needs to be worked on like a love. What do we really presume not words or only words like I assume?  And way too many words? What I ask or spaces we need a better understanding
a midnight
let fly
a lubricious
crow that
Vesuvius threw
off her
mind and
made out
this harmony
and a
throng we
once said
was so
wild where
we met
in night
of ash
a state of mind
Cat Lynn Dec 2017
Then you would be the alcohol that is burning me from the inside out...

*but at least your seeping pain is allowing me to heal...
The Only thing I have to say - you are painful... but at least you are allowing me to heal from the damage others have caused....
Martin Narrod Sep 2017
Stolen warmth gone for now,  followed by melancholic uneventful sounds. When I walk, I walk away from seeing. Everything I thought I might've been. This skin trying to fly away from me, like a misplaced shadow searching for a body to shrug off its grief. Bending, arcing, aching thumbs that have too much memory to allow them any fun. The old time might have agreed, with the girl lost for at least three weeks. Sugar and a can of milk condensed, heated up over campfire coals in the woods near Libereć.

Twice I'm too scared to talk. After a boxing match with a raging bull. Staleness lingers over these sweating hips, where half a moon quaffs down Verdi's Requiems. I told you I'm hiding in the jungle now. Through these cufflinks I speak through a startled jowl. First that dying tone, the startling sound of a fading D Minor song. The mines of the forest grieve, until the hours born sell the rights to sleep. Taken and away from grief, where wiggling children's fingers are seen. Only to find the child was not a realty.
Let your hands make amends to me, whether you're here for the pistachio ice cream or vanilla almond dream. Princess pleas for a pauper's being.

Looks like the child bit off half it's tongue, to ignore all inquiries into where its gone. Minute games and clauses of flesh, I tie her up using her own belt.  Chasing The Rockies for a festive blue, then I gorge myself while she enrolled me too. Quiet bandits filled with starlight.
Jo Baez Feb 2016
You never really know,
How much you **** at life.
Till you write a resume.
Prabhu Iyer Jan 2015
He lives in his farm house by the hills, his
quiet life of contentment, seeking, creating,
discovering; Oh he’s a scientist, and
he grafts his poem trees; Beautiful plumes do
they grow for flowers, which fly out eastward
every morning; Well now he does, the sweet
fruit of these: eat poems to live? Silencing
those who asked him once. Oh and some of the
plants can talk: beyond our hearing, ultrasound.
Penetrating objects our eyes otherwise.
see not: stones; metals; oh don’t we carry
venoms of hatred in metal tubes of
veins crossing our hearts, conveying darkness
across the seas? These poem trees, talking, can
see through. And tell, when some leaks out, causing
fires, and deaths in a school or train station.
Quiet life of contentment, seeking, creating,
discovering; Living in his farm house
by the hills. His work at
Dream resume is a surrealist technique where the protogonist's 'achievements' in the lucid-reality world of dreams are revealed, mixing elements of the real with the surreal.

I owe the word construction 'poem trees' to my wonderful twitter friend Sheri Lynn Pritchett, @poemtrees
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