"administrators" poems
And all your heros are gone,
but you refuse to take off the mask.
A loudmouth, a capitalist,
with greasy hair and a golden toothpick,
he is your enemy
he is your oppressor and
he sits upon a throne of coal and blood
with armed security
and a nation built for him,
to protect him and his money,
a police state, pat downs on the corner,
murdered in the street,
your daughters gotta eat.
He grows fatter and fatter still,
he loves complacency,
he loves contentment,
he invests heavily in both.
He knows we are strong,
he knows we are many,
he knows he must divide us to win,
he knows we're his greatest weapon,
so he created Fox News,
he created TMZ,
stealthily,
we didn't even notice,
he created NPR and KVIE,
he gave them masks that look like ours.
They look poor,
they look starved,
they look like us, but they have a different master.
Our master is the earth,
our master is our coworker, our neighbor, our mailman,
our dishwashers, our bus drivers, our minimart clerks.
Our masters are not the TV,
our masters are not the radio,
our masters are not the New York Times,
they are not National Geographic,
they are not BP,
they are not our principals, our administrators,
our policemen, our CEOs, our investors, our bankers,
our insurance providers,
these people hate us,
they hate us because they can't squeeze blood from a stone,
and
the rivers are running dry,
the factories are standing still,
the people, our masters and our friends,
they're in the streets,
they're shouting "BLACK LIVES MATTER"
they're shouting "NO JUSTICE NO PEACE"
"NO MORE WAR FOR OIL"
**** THE POLICE"
"DOWN WITH THE 1%"
and soon
and soon,
The False Gods will grow so fat
and we'll have nothing left to eat but them,
and on that day we'll sit down to dine
and it won't be civilized and it won't be pretty,
their blood, our blood, will feed the rivers and their flesh will feed our hungry children and their money will burn and warm our chilled bones but we can't wait,
we can't wait for this to happen because everyday they grow stronger,
we grow weaker and the river becomes dryer.
The Bourgeois is our enemy,
they say 'All Lives Matter'
they say 'Work Hard and Your Dreams Will Come True'
BUT THEY LIE
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 4:54 PM UTC
look me in the eye and tell me that you love me
or was it all a sad story that you unconsciously believed
while you raided the fridge and fornicated wildly
too late is not really an acceptable position
and later on is usually an example of indecision
and sometimes specimens reject their predicaments
especially if they are eventually going to be your dinner
i am sure that i am here to usher in a new authority
resurrected like a phoenix i must be stronger than before
so even if forever is often equivalent to never
and september is the month of seven (or was it nine) serpents
that are to be reborn in the dawn of Time's obsidian
as our minds have spent oblivion in the forges
of turgidly engorged shores, torn from their former continents
as forms are always gripped in hands who choose intolerance
take administrators, lawyers, bureaucrats and clerks;
as examples of this; par excellence
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
My Sunglasses
I’ve got all of Tucson trapped behind my sunglasses
I’ve framed mountain ranges in the frames of my Raybands
I’ve got reflections of saguaro’s stranding still in front of my eyes
I have sunny days taking refuge underneath my shades
I’ve domesticated the giant star that rides blues skies into walking the edge of my brow
I use black plastic as onyx shields
So Tucson, I see you.
There’s an art revolution beating at your horizon
I’ve seen it skirting around these wastelands
They tell us we’re wasting our time
Telling the roadrunner to run back home
When its nest was here since the beginning of time
Tucson.
I’ve seen folklorico and mariachi pay tribute to your origins on the hottest of days
I’ve seen in the shadows in underground art forms
Graffetti. There’s a protest in there somewhere.
I’ve even witnessed it in pen to paper
In lips to mics. In cafés in your desert nights for your desert nighttime audiences.
Tucson, your culture and artistic value shines too bright for others to see.
Your artistic worth shines too bright for others to broadcast
They tend to only record your overdoses and murders
Seems like our televised story tellers prefer to paint us in immoral reds
The only time they pay the south side attention is when the south side is aching
It doesn’t help that schools force you to choose business
Give you chance to study law all the while cut out your art programs
Fine art is required by universities but they don’t always expect you to get that far.
Tucson’s fine art is too fine and infinite to be recognized by those undeserving
Society wants to capture our southern brethren as outlaws not poets
We’re called the misfit of the desert. As if every spray can, paint stroke, choreographed twist,
Slam poem wasn’t something to take pride in.
I’m sorry they only pay your schools attention when ambulances are parked in your driveways
And administrators get caught in doing ***** deeds.
I see your talent wasted. Your talent shown.
To remind myself of your artistic significance, I’ve framed you
On walks home I photograph your murals.
Listen to the poets in the hallways.
Observe the dancers compose and the musicians choreograph
I’ve caught your reflection in my corneas’.
I’ve dilated my pupils thoughts behind my sunglasses.
Framed your mountain ranges in my frames.
Took cover in your shades.
Trained the artistic freedom and right to walk on my brow
Tucson
I see you.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 3:58 PM UTC
This week, Jesse Herndon has more on her plate than the typical high school student.
She has spent hours after school each day making calls, finalizing details for an event happening Sunday.
Collecting donated items for an upcoming silent auction. Calling every bakery in Greensboro.
“It’s very stressful,” said Herndon, a junior at Weaver Academy.
But it’s all for a good cause.
She’s organizing an event with free pastries, live music, a fashion show and a silent auction, which will be held at 7 p.m. Sunday night at The Blind Tiger, 1819 Spring Garden Street in Greensboro.
Admission is $4 with the donation of clothing of any size. The goal is to collect clothes that would comply with Standard Mode of Dress, or SMOD, the uniforms required at some local schools.
The fashion show will feature clothes from Plato’s Closet, Mack and Mack, and Patina Bridal and Formals.
The silent auction would include items such as Weaver Academy student artwork and a gift bag full of beauty products valued at about $200. Herdon is still seeking donations of items to auction.
The event will benefit Backpack Beginnings, a local organization that provides food and clothing for thousands of local needy children.
All 127 Guilford schools have a dress code, but a few dozen require students to wear uniforms.
Some parents have complained about the cost of buying the uniforms. They’ve also complained that the uniform dress codes vary from school to school, requiring additional clothes purchases if a child changes schools.
Parents and some students also described dress code violations for wearing a jacket with a hood, a logo deemed too large or the wrong color shoelaces.
“SMOD is really expensive,” Herdon said. She knows because her sisters have attended SMOD schools.
In January, the Guilford County Board of Education unanimously approved changes to its policy on SMOD. Principals of current SMOD schools have until June to survey parents on whether to continue requiring students to wear uniforms in the 2015-16 school year.
Now, school administrators at traditional schools also have to get public input before requiring uniforms. Ever two years, traditional schools with SMOD have to reconsider requiring uniforms and demonstrate public support for the policy.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 10:42 PM UTC
Memphis got real high in the 50's.
Those honeycomb bathroom floors decided to become streets
them city kids got the buy bug knocking at their knees.
Problem is: They never dream.
Teachers just learning to write
using pens filled with interrupting ink
telephone poles gossiping about the trees,
they hated their branches—always loosing their leaves
office administrators on Section 8 Housing
while the vacant houses are out on the streets.
People swarming the sewers
forgetting: a bomb shelter is no home
while drainage floods the alleys.
If you could see this place with your own eyes
and not the ones you bought at the drug store
you would wish you were blind.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 8:32 PM UTC
Well Annie now you've done it
through your gyrations, characterizations
imitations
a spot of light of spirit
flipped out into the ether
like some kind of spiritual dandruff
all crystal prisms
twinkling stars shook off of you
and floated
through my eyes and ears
and penetrated and infused
my pumping heart
through my circulatory system
snapping synaptic changes,
touching those places
of
dreams and trances.
Well Annie now you've done it all night long
with images of Olive Oil
and no Popeye
I have become a sailor man
unmoored from the safety of the slip
dragging the anchor
until the tether breaks
and find myself floating
on some Jungian sea
of the unconscious far away from the shore.
Well Annie now you've really done it -
How will this all play out
when walking down the faux marble hallways
as I roll up one wave of imitation
and down another in
clients/secretaries/billing clerks
deranged psychiatrists stories
and all of this reality
grabbing trying ranting riffing
how is this all going to play out
when strange guerilla theatre
erupts on backwards
in administrators offices
and leadership committee meetings
when I spread my legs
as my grand opening
in carrot top hangings
and turn to clients
offer them too
this spirit spark of
courage.
Well you've really done it this time Annie
when my door is locked
and pagers are begging for my attention
but I will be in the room at that desk
throwing rules, regulations
and my professional reputation
to the current winds of unwinding
truths and soulful stories.
When they turn to me
and ask for my forgiveness
in their true confession
or when I shift shapes
to the big onion
when everyone who wanders near weeps
when they ask me for that magic sentence
to make it all okay
or write a treatment plan
or
just a hand on the shoulder;
as they begin to talk
like rooms of old echoes-
I will tell them that will cost them extra.
You've done it now Annie forever
in my minute little world
rocked the boat
that spirit
like the butterfly wings causing the hurricane
of courage.
You've done it now Olive Oil Annie
I have found my spinach
and
freedom cannot be far behind...
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 1:18 AM UTC
Teachers are working organs in a sick body
Constantly challenged out of our comfort
Lungs expected to pump blood
A stomach that can't break down
Hearts begged to filter water
Diluting our true purpose
Administrators cannot function without us
A body is working system
Not a conveyor belt of replaced organs
Death is known from organs going on strike
Sickness can only last so long before we pass
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 4:32 PM UTC
yes all women
because people cringe at the word "feminism".
because I am not a feminist, I am a woman.
I am a human being.
because this poem is a one-sided sexist rant.
because I was fifteen years old when my mother first taught me about how to hold car keys as a weapon in case anyone ever attacked me.
because teenage girls are taught to never walk alone in a parking garage.
because in elementary school I was told to switch which side of the street I was walking on while going home if a man was approaching me in the same direction.
because when I was twelve my parents gave me my first cell phone for when I was out riding my bike, or taking a walk.
because I can't wear a spaghetti strap tank top to school, as it will "distract the boys".
because boys are distracted by a bony girl in a spaghetti strap tank top.
because freshmen girls are taught not to date senior boys, instead of senior boys being taught not to go after freshmen girls.
because senior boys go after freshmen girls.
because when I was ten years old I told my dad that my grandfather made me feel uncomfortable, and he got angry at me for making such a blasphemous statement.
because even after I told my mother, and she talked to my father, he ignored it completely.
because my grandfather made me, at ten years old, feel uncomfortable.
because when I was fourteen my boyfriend broke up with me since I "didn't put out".
fourteen.
because by ninth grade I had received my first unwanted and unwelcomed advance.
because I didn't tell anyone.
because school administrators turn the other cheek when a girl is ***** in the stairwell*.
because **** charges are being dropped by judges.
because victims are being bullied into silence.
because a hashtag is the most sincere form of activism.
*because **** is a crime no matter what color you try to paint the picture*.
because I will go to bed tonight, after posting this poem, after telling my story, and I will wake up tomorrow.
and nothing will change.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 7:30 PM UTC
Couldn't do college, didn't work for me
what passed for current knowledge, a paid for type degree
Obsolete information passed off as recent fare
professors and administrators, apathy beyond compare
Sitting in the classrooms, watching movies on TV
of how it should be done, and hidden meanings see
I learned more in High School, from bullies and from fights
it's not the might of fists, but knowing wrong from right
No greater disappointment, on graduation day
paying rubies for wisdom, best got another way
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 12:52 PM UTC
They go unnotice.
Least, to those that should know.
And for those that do know and do nothing.
The evidence usually shows.
They bother no one.
But gets bother more.
And for whatever reasons, we stay silent.
Until something tragedically happens.
Then blame starts flying everywhere.
All because the bully has been exposed.
It could in a group atmosphere.
Or the trouble makers might be flying solo.
But for the administrators that avoided the conflicts.
Instead of ending it quick.
We starts to see the stupidity of the adults.
While the bully works ways to intimidate again the innocent ones.
Unless, the hurt soul revert to a gun to solve his conflict.
We all know, it shouldn't have to come to this.
Sometimes, it's much worst.
When we find out in the news or reports.
That the hurt soul has killed themselves.
All because many didn't reach out to stop the mess.
A bully creates havoc.
But can't stand the consequences to come.
For, what you done?
Will come back upon your soul.
For, in this grave lies a innocent child.
Who never bother anyone?
Who gone too soon?
All because the stupidity of a few fools.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 7:50 AM UTC
Money is a driving
force
to
the real world
sometimes
it
can
bring physical happiness
but
money garland those
who
are great administrators
and
who knows how it can
manage.
they are known as "rich"
people.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 2:40 AM UTC
Ugly negroid four eyed shaqila IS the original poem thief.
You think it's safe to post your poems on a site with no one in charge?
Think again you idiots. No site moderators and no administrators.
A Brit camping on twitter and ain't been on this site in months.
Check this link to see how many poems been removed. That would be ZERO!
All poems are still there and good luck with thinking site's deleting any poems.
http://hellopoetry.com/search/?q=FUCK+YOU+POETRY+COMPUTER
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 4:00 AM UTC
I've got a new best friend
Evidently she lived a life of sin
I wrote a poem of a former venture she was on
It turned into her first day at the nursing home
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Today she was sad and lost
She had misplaced her purse
Let go of her life at such a cost
~~~~~~~~~~~
She was wandering round
Asking the nurses and administrators for help
In a state of panic, searching for the lost-n-found.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I took her to the cafeteria
Where we were doing crafts
Hoping I could change the channel of her mind
Panic would pass
~~~~~~~
She told me of the hardships she has lived thru
How she resided in her car for years
Now it was wrecked and she had
No one to live with she knew
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She told me her plan was to leave this hotel
Right before dark
Sneak back in and sleep in a closet
As quiet as a lark
~~~~~~~~
I told her I happen to know
The manager of this hotel
They'll give you a room if
You'll be part of the show
~~~~~~~~~~~~
You should have seen the smile on her face
Oh Yes, she is
A woman of grace
~~~~~~~~~
She told me Thanks
My name is June
I told her she is my new best friend
I will come see you soon
Then I wheeled her in chair to her room
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2/27/2015~ Today I found out June is now in a four star hotel called heaven. I sure will miss you June~~~~~~~~~~
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
where does
evil rest assure
but
in the hands
of our
advisors
administrators
magicians and
court jesters or
fire
arrived in the
hands of
Prometheus
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 8:35 PM UTC
[ ] couldn't find anything to respond with
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[ ] has run out of solutions
please restart the program at your earliest convenience
after you have spent enough time away to forget all prior interaction
start the program and resume from the beginning
...
you can not uninstall the program without administrators permission
please enter password to continue...
password or username incorrect...
forgot password?
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no
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YES NO
yes
please insert your email
we will send you a new identity to your email
if you do not see it within 10 minutes
you're SOL
Feb 9, 2019
Feb 9, 2019 at 10:54 PM UTC
where does
evil rest assure
but
in the hands
of our
advisors
administrators
magicians and
court jesters
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 8:40 PM UTC
Over the years I stop at that point
only to board a vessel
to the other side of the river
for further journey to the sea
but for the brief period of waiting
I keep pondering about the name of the place
Harwood Point.
Who was this Harwood?
what was he doing here?
what good deed made him deserving
to name the place after him?
I am still baffled
after a quarter of a century.
Googling throws up many Harwoods
dead and distinguished
but there's no clue to connect any of them with
Harwood Point.
I imagine he was one of the administrators
who left the shore of England
to be stationed at this place a century or two ago
then a tract of almost inaccessible jungle
for surveying the prospects of trade
for the East India Company
but that leads me to further questions.
Was he a noble soul that loved the place
and came to like the people there
so much so that the natives after his departure
made his name permanently etched there?
Or was he among those typical British Officers
who vented their wrath for having been interned
to a god forsaken mangrove wilderness
treated the natives with extreme disdain
proving himself worthy of his position
and duly rewarded by his masters
by making him a part of history
ironically undefined and unrecorded.
I love to think though
on a night when the moon
made the tide rebellious
he walked into the river
and was lost for good
and to this day none knows for sure
what happened to Mr. Harwood.
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 3:48 AM UTC
the epidemic of trolling
is spreading fast
at another poetry site
some writers are in this cast
administrators have got
a massive job ahead
weeding out those who've
coughed on its bread
the purging process
is all for the good
as this disease can't stay
in the neighborhood
a temporary closure
notice was posted to-day
to let members know
of the trolls awful play
when the cleansing op
has been finalized
the gates of the forum
shall be fully sterilized
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 4:55 AM UTC
After
ministerial meetings and duties of
advisers
chancellors
administrators
magicians
and
court jesters
the majority of
the royal staff
decided that
the
royal king
is fit for a feast of
pheasant
wild geese
and
wild boar
fruit and drink
and
a host of jugulars and
fair dancing maidens
requested merriment of
the royal palace
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 2:16 PM UTC
The teachers and administrators drain our creative juices,
Like tying nooses for the wonderful ability and potential we possess in our life,
Like holding a knife to our ideas and and expressions.
A way for us to feel free and happy has turned into a hypnotic, brainwashing routine of worthless facts and memorization,
Being forced to share a room with those who could care less and and just add to your annoyance and stress.
Being forced to deal with those who claim to be passionate but could care less.
I'm forced to lash out and I'm the complete trash?
Think again...
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 12:51 AM UTC
i wonder if i would have made it in this site,
if the "request to join" button was always there.
my form of poetry is different,
it's reassurance to have a community outlet
with the option of keeping anonymous.
i wonder what the administrators idea of a worthy poem is
and how they rate it to let people in
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 11:58 AM UTC
Foment in a sea of green
With torment in its tail,
Writhing in performance
Wrenching in its flail.
Rationale cavorting
In ocean lost to foam
With rank and file aborting
Its chaotic flight for home.
Truth defiled to window
Pride divorced to flaw,
International prestige lost
To reputation’s door.
Pitiful to spectate
Administrators fawn
As those, once great, capitulate
To observation’s yawn.
America capitulates
Sunk beneath the waves
As pinkly, pouting proffers
It tweetingly depraves.
Once great, to teeter terrified
On brink of void’s abyss
I see dead eyes, expressionless,
Lurch on to farewell’s kiss.
M.
Observing, in horror, the demise of something once…. Great.
Taranaki, New Zealand.
25 October 2017
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 11:59 PM UTC
Human beings.....
In a race to change
The very definition of humanity,
Only to get baptized in insanity.
Politicians.....
Rhapsody of the Parliaments and Government,
To bring a system of popularity,
Full of hate and inequality.
Bureaucrats....
Mobilize the art of duality,
Impress the subordinates with cruelty,
Pave a way to ambiguity,
Media.....
Refines the art of deception
Brainwashing the public view,
Discourages insightful review.
Intellectuals....
Racing the horses of wishes
Full of illogical ideals,
Manipulates as treasure steals.
Teachers...
Busy projecting arcane results,
Doubtful about own native cultures,
Relishing the limelight like vultures.
Administrators.....
Passionate to be remembered, Names on streets and buildings,
Boards and Committee starlings.
Social works....
Administer the theoretical concepts,
Bridge the recognised social rifts,
Actuality is subjugation and wanton theft.
©Perveiz Ali
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
Lucky I am, as no one walked before me.
But I had to go, so what I walked became the path!
When I walked for the first time, it was not easy,
The course was coarse and the team was unwilling,
Challenges were many both physical and psychological
Milestones were few, if someone not traveled, would never know!
I pushed ahead, one stretch a time,
Learning the terrain and conquering simultaneously!
We had to walk on it, through it many a times
We created a lot more milestones and stopovers
Others also came, put on signage's,
Thought aloud, how this path could have been better!
Some even asked, 'Where does this path lead to?'
There were many onlookers, travelers, part-time travelers
Many such people were wondering,
'Why are we walking on this path?'
Few team mates wanted to settle down along the path,
One or two launched out on the mission to walk their path!
Travelers poured in and so do the administrators,
Experts came in broadened it, added platforms,
Beautified it, levied tax and even named the path!
Criticisms were plenty from the first step that I took,
But I know people will follow this path!
People after people, ages after ages, will follow this path!
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 6:41 AM UTC
Last night I was in pain
I cut my crushes' name onto my stomach
I tried hanging myself
on 2/11/25
and my friend reported me
to the administrators
and I tried the lifeline
they couldn't help
Feb 12, 2025
Feb 12, 2025 at 12:17 PM UTC