"administrator" poems
Just because it's suggested doesn't make it right.
In the hands of teachers, other staff.
What other purpose could this directly serve.
To defend our institutions.
To further endanger those around.
The knowledge instilled from book to teacher a different practice.
Now holstered, hidden in the drawer of a desk.
What goes through the mind of the victim that's been bullied.
What training can be set in place to stop the next bulletin.
Shooting across the screen.
The kid in 10th grade that carries the weight of the world.
Sitting all day staring out the window.
Mother in hospice.
A fragile thought swallowed by deafening silence.
It no longer becomes a listening session of encouragement.
The after school sessions of comfort sped up.
Another bulletin of hysteria fired across the screen.
Teacher student affair.
15 year old student found with 42 year old man.
When in reality she was seeking help due to a troubled home.
Afraid to sleep knowing the door would creep open.
Leaving her terrified to close her eyes. The relationship between step daughter and father without boundary.
Where's the specialty training for those who care.
The proper resources that extend beyond that of a pamphlet.
The dark skin kids that's made fun of because they look different.
Stereotyped as aggressive.
The dope boys, the baby mamas.
The light skin girl that's made to feel inferior because she turns red with every hit.
Her hair is longer than theirs so she wants to cut it.
Aggressively forgetting all the beauty she possesses.
The active shooter managing to make it pass the metal detectors.
Rallying the attention he didn't get at home.
The debate carries on across every wall except the right ones
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 11:33 AM UTC
The comfiest human bed warmer I ever had,
My fundamental tutor of the good and the bad,
The original storyteller in my bedtime tantrums,
The resident photographer of my birthday albums.
The accidental magician who tricked me out of my worries,
A sympathetic dictator who scolds but allows my fancies,
My biased talent manager who always tells me I'm the best,
The loudest cheerleader who puts to shame all the rest.
The world's underrated chef cooking heavenly meals,
Our unpaid laundry lady worrying over water bills,
The overqualified nurse never leaving her patient,
Our top-notch budget analyst negotiating every payment.
The random gardener, she can grow anything with ease,
Our talkative historian, she stops recalling only if we say please,
The uncanny philosopher, we've learned a lot from her,
The lost and found administrator, tracking things hidden anywhere.
The most efficient multitasker I've ever known,
My trustworthy adviser who knows me down to my bones,
A tough fighter who keeps winning her every battle,
My life's co-creator and this world's greatest mother.
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 7:44 PM UTC
In my Prada purse, I carry my heavy medical textbook
I carry an extra tube of my MAC lipstick in Russian Red
I carry a comb
My ID
A clear nail polish topcoat
And a bottle of eye drops that I avoid using because it makes my mascara run.
In my wholesome home, I have glossy tiled bathrooms
Pristine, crisp, snow white curtains
Organic, citrus scented cleansers
Granite counter tops
And large mahogany desks.
In my hollow heart I cradle my worries of a straying spouse,
My anger towards the anonymous administrator
My notions of a sneaky baba
My choking OCD
My crippling debt to a vile man
And the breaking weight of having to shield my children from all that goes on behind locked doors.
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
Corina Junghiatu is a bilingual poet/writer hailing from Romania. She holds a Master Degree in Philology and Phychopedagogy and likewise she graduated from The Faculty of Letters and Philosophy in Bucharest. She speaks five foreign languages.
Corina has written and publishing two books of poetry: „Exile in the light” and „The ritual of a Sunrise”. She is Administrator and Publication Coordinator of Motivational Strips, editor of "Bharath Vision" website, and Chief Advisor of World Nations Writers' Union Kazakhstan. Corina has won many awards from international institutions of repute, for poetry.
Recently, Corina Junghiatu, together with 350 poets and writers from 80 countries, received a certificate of appreciation for her entire literary activity, on the occasion of the 74th anniversary of the Independence Day of the Republic of India. This certificate was was handed by the famous writer Shiju H. Pallithazheth the Founder of Motivational Strips, World's Most Active Writers Forum and Padma Shree Dr. Vishnu Pandya, President of Gujarat Sahitya Akademy, a government institution of the state of Gujarat (India).
Aug 31, 2020
Aug 31, 2020 at 10:45 AM UTC
People say I'm obsessive, and I wholeheartedly agree. I'd die for a favorite artist, and I reread stories I like until I hate them. I force myself to love every song performed by "my band", to a point where I'm not entirely sure which of their tunes actually earned their place in my heart.
It brings to mind a modern-Hebrew term, "protektzia". It can be translated as social leverage, or "pull". Protektzia is when you are related to the administrator of an elite high school, or when you're friendly with the secretary of a sought-after doctor. It's as if songs walk up to me and say, "hey, I know I'm not that great, but I was written by so-and-so!"
All that changes when old Depression drops by. Suddenly, things I cared so much for are meaningless. It's like quarreling with a close friend. Although, I don't hate my former faves so much as scorn them, for being silly enough to exist.
Why does depression do this to me? Because depression is the drainage of passion. As a cow needs to be milked and a dripping air-conditioner needs a bucket, what are obsessions if not an outlet for the passion contained in the heart?
But neither are necessary when the cow is dead and the AC off.
Thankfully, depression to me is a mood rather than a condition, and so I host frequent reunions with my beloved idols.
You are all invited!
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 7:27 PM UTC
“You tell that man that I’ve no more desire to speak with him than I would the devil himself!”
“You tell that man that I am very upset that he would come in here and interrupt this afternoon’s bingo game!”
“I mean, honestly!”
The administrator of
the nursing home looked at me nervously.
I looked back,
apologetic,
but undaunted.
“I just need information.”
“I need to know if she has any plans to go back home.”
“I need to know that if she does go home, she’ll have the proper equipment and support system in place, waiting for her when she arrives.”
The administrator walked back
toward the facility’s dining hall,
where the bingo game was in full swing.
(The executive whispered into an ear.)
A pair of elderly, cataract-laden eyes rolled,
then glared at me with a hostility that I could feel,
even all the way over by the nurse's station.
“The lady says that she plans to stay with us.”
I nodded, said my thanks, and walked back out into the cold.
This part of the job is always a bit surreal.
It makes me think of my mother.
She was the director of several nursing homes over the course of my youth.
The smells of these facilities is assaultive.
(Industrial cleaning products,
boiled vegetables,
assorted liniments and balms,
the faintest twinge of ***** in the nostrils.)
To me these places smell like memories
that go for long periods,
unrecalled,
unrecounted.
(School-age summers
spent in supply rooms,
marking supplies,
stacking them neatly,
like troops ready for deployment.)
Often the nursing home
is thought to be a horrendous destination.
I can understand that.
But, she wanted to stay
and I had interrupted the bingo game,
hadn’t I?
Tonight’s supper was roasted chicken,
mashed potatoes,
pickled beets on the side.
(I’d read as I’d entered.)
Maybe her sons and daughters
didn’t want her anymore.
Maybe they’d visit every afternoon at 4.
There was no way I’d ever know again for sure.
But, I know why this afternoon’s task
made me smile,
stinging at the same time.
Because I’m Cynthia’s son.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications 2018
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 1:55 PM UTC
*My head swells,
with the words of wisdom,
implanted into my Cerebral Cortex.
Security Level:
Administrator.
The signal:
Never interrupted.
My hair;
my face;
my clothes.
My principal behaviour,
controlled.
My…
Volition;
Desire;
selection…
foretold,
by the scriptures of the box,
and the writings on the wall.
Ipods;
ipads;
mobile phones.
I need a new three piece suite,
so I’ve been told.
My head continues to swell,
to a monumental size,
and I feel my feet lift from the earth,
gently,
so gently…
lifting me to the skies.
As I float with acquiescence surrender,
over the roof tops of consumption,
I gaze at all the shadows;
their cadaverous minds.
Poor souls.
I continue on my journey;
my pilgrimage of enlightenment;
my odyssey of comprehension;
my voyage of realization.
Many miles pass,
and my head declines in size.
I start to lose altitude;
and I debark...
safe,
but with cleansed mind.
The view is humbling,
and as I look down,
I behold a flower.
I sit beside it.
I admire it.
A true example,
of Design.*
Jun 25, 2010
Jun 25, 2010 at 6:01 AM UTC
Who is this impostor,
glimpsed with horror
in the department store window?
He apes my movements
but fails to capture
their athleticism,
spring-loaded inside an easy grace.
Ladies and gentlemen, do not be deceived.
Disregard those who think they know me.
This shambling simulacrum
is not me.
Perhaps my Nobel prize
is just a might-have-been,
my endowments only imagined.
But I am who I want me to be.
All aboard for the unguided tour!
Already begun, pre-planned
by an unknown administrator,
its detailed itinerary remains unpublished.
The last stage is, they say, less delightful than the others.
It passes through the poorer districts;
one sees industrial squalor and boarded-up lives.
I can leave the tour at any time.
I am who I want me to be.
Discomfort and dissolution do not belong in my world.
I am not the kind of person to ever be distraught.
So oblivion shall not swallow my love's soul.
Not all at once,
not piece by piece.
Not even a little.
Her identity must not be corrupted.
We are who I want us to be.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 7:00 AM UTC
I am a big thief
And I live in Independent India
On the 64th independence day
I was beaten almost to death
By the police
Because I was hungry
And tried to steal
An apple from a fruit vendor’s
On the same day
I saw the photograph
Of an officer
In all the leading news papers
He was given the best administrator’s
Award by the GOVERNMENT
He takes bribes everyday openly
I am a big thief and sinner
He is a great officer and award winner
I am a big thief
And I live in Independent India
On the 64th independence day
I was beaten almost to death
By the police
Because I was hungry
And tried to steal
An apple from a fruit vendor’s
On the same day
I saw the photograph
Of an officer
In all the leading news papers
He was given the best administrator’s
Award by the GOVERNMENT
He takes bribes everyday openly
I am a big thief and sinner
He is a great officer and award winner
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 6:39 AM UTC
Computer virusలాగా నా చుట్టూ చేరి చంపకే .
recycle binలో ఉన్న fileలా దాగి దాగి ఉండవే .
Temporaryగా నిలిచినా file లాగా temper పెంచాకే .
Recently used fileలా పదే పదే కనపడకే .
Accident గానే నిన్ను delete నేను చేయనే లేదులే .
Format చేసిన తిరిగి తెప్పించే software లా మారకే .
Cache memoryలో ఉండి ప్రతి సారి చంపకే .
Internet saved pages లా history లో mystery create చేయకే .
Automatic update అయ్యి నా memory నీ కొల్లగోట్టకే. .................
మంచి Antivirus కోసం వెతుకులాటలో ఉన్నానే.
Permanant గా delete చేసే మార్గం కోసం చూస్తున్నానే .
Shift delete నే సాయం అడిగేలా మారిపోయానే.
Recent list generate అవ్వకుండా safe mode పెట్టుకోవాలే .
ఏ search engine కి దొరకని రీతిలో folder lock పెట్టి ఉంచాలే.
Administrator కూడా access చేసుకోకుండా tight security పెంచాలే.
Firewall లో block చేసి పడేస్తే నీ గొడవ తీరునులే.
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 7:34 AM UTC
With the proceeds he bought the bank
the water company and computer halls
Modern Monopoly. He invested
in advanced filters and the internet
With a wink he kept his title
'Landlord'. Ah, the good old days
Now we are the owners, we pay
the subscriptions and pay off our debt
Things are going well, fewer members
are active, there is talk on the sidelines
and self-interested owners
collect proxies
The administrator acts
opportunistically and follows
the outside world
There is a call
for another system:
with so little involvement
a transfer of power will do -
blank until business is done
May 30, 2023
May 30, 2023 at 3:56 AM UTC
Reset pv4 pin ID add host lvl
with my broken concentration,
while the reboot computes and
command prompt prefers
and no I don't have the router,
but yes I'm an administrator.
Who is in charge,
and who is punishing me?
Superstition sends me around back into the
Ground beef while I'm repenting of my sins
to get my hard drive running smoother,
like it's a catholic father
who just gets crotchety in the presence of gigabits
and lil ***** who won't behave
and condemns this piece of crap to an early grave.
Oh, but maybe it's just I need to unscrew and then pull out and blow off and put back in...
doubting it all again and a big circle starts anew.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 12:45 PM UTC
Kudos to the Promoter –
The oblivious n’ obliging
That planned and precipitated
This Perpetual Peninsular Planet
Kudos to the Governor
Who lit nuclear fire in far fulcrum
For a clear day light delight
Creamy kind to the mankind
Kudos the Sole Soul Administrator
Who gifted circular air corridor
And nosed it down into lungs
To beat to the heart’s content
Kudos the Chief Organizer
Who sponsored organic life around
Induced conducive premises
To belong and live long along
Kudos to the Ace Architect
Who opened up infinite cosmos
To host finite entities to thrive
Cycle and recycle thru infinity
Kudos to the Ubiquitous
Who master minded gene n’ genre
To organize sensory organs
And make chosen living
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 6:02 AM UTC
born was this day -
the king of the kings
the monarch of the south
the lord of the war elephants
the nightmare of the enemies
the upholder of the righteousness
the fervent patriot of the nation
established had he -
the mightiest empire of the renaissance
the kingdoms that don’t know dearth
the cities with surplus rubies and diamonds
the villages with flourishing greenery and jubilance
the sites with fascinating monuments
the territories with impenetrable borders
known was he as -
the ambidextrous sword fighter
the indomitable malla wrestler
the maven of the fine arts
the polyglot patron of the five languages
the prudent administrator and strategist
the paragon of an ideal ruler
been had he –
the hope of the people
the savior of the Hindu culture
the beacon among his contemporaries
the generous and the inclusive king
the valiant frontline military general
the esteemed scholar and poet
ended had he –
the atrocities on the peasants
the societal repression on the women
the ludicrous taxes on the residents
the brutal conquests of the invaders
the pernicious rituals in the communities
the chaos and disunity among the kingdoms
left has he -
the fear in the evil
the legacy of his deeds
the stories of his glorious reign
the prolific heritage sites to the people
the spectacular literary upsurge
the inspiration for the united India
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 1:54 AM UTC
I found myself a friend.
He lives in New Jersey and has never met me.
He is 62.
He and I share interests, and he is an administrator of the forum
Where we go to talk about technology and computing and all that jazz
He just said
When young looks and lust
Are the driving factors,
As you age, temperment and having mutual interests
Become more important.
In later years you want a friend
And partner more but good looks don't hurt the equation!
That's kind of where I'm at, I guess. In my later years...
Either you'll catch up or I'll be fine with non-partnered friends
The kind of friends
You realize walk in an out of your life
When you all grow out on your own
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 3:01 PM UTC
Where is that lover in the black dress? One not of worldly dispair, one of makeup made from queen like caress.
Where is the string player? The dream slayer amongst devils of men, beyond cremation of friend's. For words art just meaning's of all seeming realities of cape fear! No desires ever met, for this one truest of death surely draweth near.
Like liquid to the needle, like wings on the Beatle, air conditioned rooms made from doom, I bleed out prophetic tears!!!
Images of ashy mascara currupts human time, queen of black, sits on back cracking fingers in glue like slime!!!
An actualiser, say adieu to morning glory faces. Painted on places to canvasses of darkened boutique....
The administrator,a navigator gather all on cloudish cobblestoned paths, much more than an assembly....
Babiche laces rambling to the dark souled queens Victorian skin!!!!
Axer thy taste towards her, the one owned by no one!!!! The one adored...
She whistles to heartbrakes destruction...... ( la,LA,LA,LA....she's the only one awake amongst those who snore....
©Brandon Nagley
©Prison poetry
©Lonesome poet's poetry
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 3:54 PM UTC
The forgotten essential workers
Who is seldom mention.
Who is so often belittle,
Porters,
Cooks,
Laundry workers
Dish-washers,
Elevator-repair men
Recreations,
Front Desk clerks
Certified Nurse’s Aide
Home health aide
Waiters,
God! Oh how hard we work!
Private’s aides
Now as we celebrate Juneteenth 19
Black lives matters, can we really be seen
After four hundred years of oppressions
Can we tossed back river of tears
we are in 2020 is this our commission?
We as Essential workers in your nursing homes
Being tested twice a week,
By your essential worker phlebotomist
Who puncture my vein with his cannula?
For the governor executives order
listen up you uncouth nurses who poke
The swab sticks deep into my nose.
Listen this quackery has to end!
Pandemic, politics, election strategy
We essential need more respect.
You with your white privileges, and your treats
(RE: PCR swabbing, week being on Wednesday and ends on Tuesday.
If you work 4 or more days you need to be swabbed 2x per week
In a 48hrs time frame, if not you will be taken off the schedule
You will be humiliated, said the Administrator Mr. Sal
Because he is not a babysitter there to reminds you..
Said a non- professional white privileges)
as the city navigate the pandemic
moving on to injustices of systemic racism,
poverty, militarism and
a war economy:
Mr. Governor Cuomo: I cannot breathe..
I
Mr. Governor Cuomo: I cannot breathe
Jun 20, 2020
Jun 20, 2020 at 9:16 AM UTC
You have copied and pasted yourself into my memory without my
conscious authorization. My data storage could surpass that of a
super computers, a near infinite amount of space for whatever I
want saved, except you have rewritten my libraries upon libraries
of me with your animation; as if I now cannot run without you
constantly there. When I try to open the program of my heart it’s
blocked by the virus you lured me with. I used to trouble shoot in
circles wasting gigaseconds at a time trying to find ways of deleting
you out of my hardware. I’m constantly stuck in a loop of trial and
error trying to decode and compute the internal damage you’ve
done in efforts to restore my old programming. I tried to find
solutions with other users but you act as my administrator,
dictating what I have access to. The folder named, “My History”
has been renamed to “Our History” with every face you’ve made,
every word you’ve said, and every instance we’ve plugged into each
other being cached for immediate viewing making it all
too easy to only think of you; I cannot upload a single thought
without you in it. I have grown sick, going from constant states
of freezing to overheating since the day you crashed me. This is
not something I can just sleep off. This is not something I can
just shutdown everything for.
I cannot edit you.
I cannot erase you.
I cannot wipe myself clean of you.
I have been overrun by you.
And the truth is, I have been
searching for exactly this
since the day I was built.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 5:25 AM UTC
The incandescent lights, the crowded subways,
The penetrating fumes, the worried pace,
The ticking clocks and the rushed sweat,
The heavy breathing.
The city moans.
A man welded into a sea of bodies,
Sweat hanging from his frowned brow.
Shaky hands and an empty stare.
A quick pace walks unperceived.
He cannot be seen.
A cellular phone buzzes into his ear,
Vibrating inside his wealthy pockets.
A raggedy angry man shouts,
Like the constant bickering of his wife,
The commands of his boss.
Dark circles have replaced his eyes,
Moans have overcome his speech.
Leisure is an unobtainable dream,
Happiness is once again
An unknown deed.
He stares from outside his window,
Confined within a wooden desk.
Stacked between a wave of duties,
He looks for an escape,
And a tempting distraction.
A thin-boned young woman, with
Child-like body, and undeveloped hips,
Walked without a pace,
Without rush, or march-like hurry.
She pranced, yes, she pranced.
Oh how her body danced,
Without worry, or clenching irk.
Her smile illuminated the beholder,
And her stubby figure, suddenly
Had become graceful.
She turned, her baby blue eyes,
And stared at him in return.
She extended her arm,
She bent her hand.
She beckoned, and he ran.
He took her hand and all
Was left behind.
The city lights, the buzzing screeches,
The never-desolate streets,
And the suffocating sweats.
The yanking automobiles,
The stumping feet, the irritable frowns,
The traffic lights, the ***** streets,
The helicopter roars,
And the rush hour jams.
The bickering wife,
The dictatorial administrator,
The dying parents, the crying children,
The mounting responsibilities,
And countless sleepless nights.
He welcomed her slender arms,
The quiet nights, and the countryside aroma.
The city fumes escaped his lungs,
And he could finally breathe,
Hear, see, taste, and feel.
Oh, how he longs such respite,
He whispers, as he stares down the window.
And slips the hand he had been holding.
She prances away,
And he stands, alone.
In between his desk, inhaling
The city fumes. Exhaling a tired breath.
Hearing the screeching wheels,
The angry drivers, and the busy tack
Of hurried standbyers.
It had only been a rush hour dream,
It seemed.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
A shoulder to lean on
Broad arms that could warm up
Thought what the future would bring up
Hope can't go on,
If so restart by signing up
At the reception of mutual affection
On the counter of a firm liaison
Perceived with no complex reason
Don't leave without passing on my administration
No one can't duplicate my savior
Administrator of my very behavior
My behavior toward you, zebra
Cause of whether we interact
Must be blind to skip that fact
Blessed to say I don't lack
No lack of love and caring
Go back and saw your slacking
My mom is the pro Duchess from all the passing.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 12:06 AM UTC
"They'll all want to read ****** you say
I am frozen
Strange words from a school administrator
"Or 'The Story of O'" says another man across from me
A long pause
You both wait
Eyes glance in my direction
What will I say?
I can hear you breathe
What do I think?
I can feel your desire to know like a touch
" I guess ****** isn't very much compared to what they have today"
An additional thought to give new life to the pause
What gets me going?
A silence has been layed out in front of me
to hint at what I like
Expectant breath, I am aware of
until the silence becomes dead
and the moment has passed
I say nothing
I know I would raise your blood pressure
And you're old
I'm into kink
and I don't read boring old books about it
I like to be in control
It comes from years of horse back riding
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 10:35 PM UTC
I would like pay homage
For this incredible page
Depicting shining stage
Everyone's therapy
A drug free ecstasy
Dreams, and fantasy
Brought to life
Thank you for the impossible
Making things possible
You gave people relief
Opening doors to belief
Ideas, emotions, thoughts
Shared for the world to see
Setting many souls free
Planting the seed for the next tree
Traveling at an extraordinary speed
Opening minds so that people can read
And feed their brain & break the restrain
Inevitable to hault like a train
Holding you up high on my wall like a frame
Seeking truth never wanted fame
My favorite site I dwell in peace
For the founder, the director, and administrator
I would like to say thank you
For this marvelous opportunity
You have done well
You have accomplished
You have constructed art
You have extreme potential
You have impacted something
I can surely tell...
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 6:38 PM UTC
1857 was some years older,
Bhaaratvarsh was still a slave.
No Hïnđū king after Śïvājī had been bolder,
None dared guerrilla attacks from a mountain cave.
No Hïnđū queen after Läkšmībāī was braver,
None consumed the patriotism wine agave.
Mughal or howsoever other tyrannical kings were,
The Colonial Age was worse and it was a blur.
Bhāräŧ knows how to make things better,
And I am sure about this administrator.
Mōđī Jī is as focused as a recluse,
And Yōgī Jī tolerates not a traitor.
Shāh Jī is the best strategist,
And the team is just perfect.
Smřŧï auntie is the best counsellor,
An example she is of the pink power.
Rājnāŧh Jī is the best caretaker,
Wise old man for the nation.
Doctor Härśvärđhän is now elevated,
He heads the World Health Organization.
Coronavirus and its disease, COVID19,
Originated in MainlandChina.
Extinction, it is threatening,
Now we all turn to Hïnđū values.
Sänāŧän Đhärmä is very scientific,
The blind faith belongs to aggressors.
The oldest **** sapiens sapiens,***
In Jharkhand state, you will find its remains.
They say that history repeats itself,
Rām Rājyä beckons once again.
Jul 9, 2020
Jul 9, 2020 at 7:45 PM UTC