"aleck" poems
If you’re under 21
You are too young for this content
I’m way too grown to deal
With anyone’s childish non-sense
No need for back talk
Or any smart-aleck comments
If you don’t understand the concept
Let me put it into context
I’m a grown man
And I don’t play childish games
I give respect
And I expect the same
I don’t think you hear
What I’m trying to convey
When I grew up
I put away my childish ways
When I was young
I spoke just like you
Sharp tongued- loaded gun
Quick and ready to shoot
When I was young
I was too immature to reason
But wisdom came with time
And rough, unpredictable seasons
When I was young
I didn’t understand
All it took to be a man
Never had a father
To guide me with his hand
So the idea of “Manhood”
I couldn’t fully comprehend
So to all of the young men out there
This is all I’m really trying to say…
It’s time to grow up and cast aside
Your childish ways
Be “man enough” to humble your self
Get down on your knees and pray
God will tell the kid inside of you,
He doesn’t have to be afraid
The pain of the past- must go
Today's a brand new day
Let him know it’s time to grow
To be an adult...
But his child-like joy can stay
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 7:04 PM UTC
I was never a child who got too startled
It was not the imaginary monsters or darkest corners that kept me up
It was always the words
Words that paralyzed me, pinned back my ears
I was never a child who got too sick
I did not catch the common flu commonly
Nor did I shake with sweat on a bone-chilling night
It was always the words
Words that scraped my stomach raw, ate me inside out
I was never a child who got too smart
I did not talk with naively perceived accuracy
It was not the punishment I received from being a smart-aleck that refrained me
It was always the words
Words that controlled my inner speech, meticulously measuring what squeaked out
I was never a child who got too close
I did not trust, for I did not know, for I did not try
I was barricaded by the words
It was always the words that paralyzed me, scraped me raw, controlled me
I was forced to listen, but never to ask, never to protest, never to question
I was restrained by the words, obstructed by them
I let them hurt, I let them deplete me, I let them be me
And they have been me, and they are me
I have consumed them, time and time again
I let them take over, till there was no more me and only the words
It was always the words
Now it is just the words
May 16, 2012
May 16, 2012 at 3:04 PM UTC
I kiss the rain and recall thy blame, of the one I cannot name who is in pain and is insane.
Allow me not to sour over you no more or linger in vain, as I cannot account for what you’ve done it was painfully disdain.
So far away I leap from you,
I let go and I grow.
Cower was your power over me, bunted by your insufficient explanation of your aleck that kept me caged, carped and frugal.
With your haste I bare you not our child but that of a black blade that I craned, and I killed. I killed you.
You scraped me of my honor and took away my aim to stay high and live a life.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 10:52 AM UTC
A Neanderthal pointed to a stone, and said, "Oomph."
The others stared at him.
After a time,
another pointed at the same stone, and said "Oomph."
Then another, and another, and soon the entire cave,
was resonating with Oomphs!
"Oomph Oomph Oomph! Oomph!
Oomph Oomph Oomph! Oomph!
Oomph Oomph Oomph! Oomph!"
A young smart aleck Neanderthal,
then stood up, and pointed outside the cave,
to a big rock, and said, "Oomph."
An instant silence: a silence so still
you can hear a bat **** dropped.
After a time,
with a thunderous roar the inventor Neanderthal
rushed the young Neanderthal
out of the cave, and bashed his head against the rock
killing him in one blow.
The entire cave erupted:
"Oomph Oomph Oomph! Oomph!
Oomph Oomph Oomph! Oomph!
Oomph Oomph Oomph! Oomph!"
And that's the etymology
of their war cry;
And it was also how
their religion was born.
"Oomph Oomph Oomph! Oomph!
Oomph Oomph Oomph! Oomph!
Oomph Oomph Oomph! Oomph!"
May 8, 2019
May 8, 2019 at 11:49 PM UTC
My name is Holden Caulfield,
And I might just be a fool.
Picking fights and calling names,
Failing out of private school.
My house is my tombstone,
And killing time is killing me
Like the smoking cigarette
Perched between my teeth.
I'm trading my innocence
For a bottle of apathy
Because the harsh light of reality
Is beating down on me.
I'm so brain dead and bored,
I'm almost six feet in the ground.
Chasing after nothing at all,
A carousel spinning round and round.
I went on a small vacation
To avoid my fate by passing time.
Is idly watching life go by
A punishable crime?
A bunch of plans in my head,
but they're all half hearted.
I'm lacking a catalyst,
but the reaction never started.
I'm the leading actor
In my own theatrical tragedy.
Should I just burn my script,
Instead of becoming a casualty?
I just want to be a kid again,
And put my problems on pause.
I'm fighting against growing up,
A martyr for a dying cause.
I call everyone a phony,
But the truth is still the same.
I'm a smart aleck feigning stupid,
With only himself to blame.
Sep 11, 2020
Sep 11, 2020 at 12:47 AM UTC
Requiescat In Pacem
when I leave this world
look not for me under the dried ground
but look up and see me beneath the skies
when I pass from this realm
weep not for my absence from your crowd
but feel my presence in the gentle wind
find solace in my words, those that I've writ
know that this heart belongs to you and only you
that I will always be a part of your soul
on a cold day, let our memories warm you up
and when you are down, let the same memories lift your spirits
look back with fondness and love
it matters not how I leave this world
you were my salvation, my life, my soul
I lived and not merely existed
and this is enough
~aleck
05022017
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 4:02 PM UTC
I've never had a good relationship with my father.
The moment I started forming opinions of my own,
The moment I started to spit fire and venom,
Instead of smile in a sugary sweet way at every turn,
He decided I wasn't really worth all the effort,
Or any kindness whatsoever.
He thinks I know too much,
Or I know too little.
He thinks I talk too much,
Or I talk too little.
He thinks I'm too cold,
Or foolishly warm.
He thinks I'm too open,
Or much too closed off.
My father cares more about a bottle,
Than he ever cared about me.
And you wonder why I have trouble
Bringing myself to drink.
And the thing I hate most about me,
Is that I prefer the smell of books
Over the smell of flowers,
And that I prefer the typing of a keyboard
Over the notes of a piano.
I'd drink scotch over wine,
Every time.
And that's my father's blood
Running through my veins,
And I hate the person
He's made.
I am cold and I don't trust.
I don't smile and I don't laugh.
I have a hot temper
And I always react.
My father is the type of guy
Who goes on and on about being liberal,
But thinks dancing wrong
Or touching someone the wrong way
Is an invitation
For ***
And if I disagree,
We fight and we fight,
And he's ashamed of me,
But I don't care anymore.
And you can agree with any point he's made,
But you disagree with one key factor
And you're the enemy,
And you're wrong.
He thinks people who are on medication
Are always wrong.
And he thinks people who don't take meds,
But need them,
Are batshit.
My father doesn't care about
Others feelings
Or the damage he does,
He sometimes only cares about
His pride
And his god **** scotch and *****
I am hot headed
And stubborn.
I am a smart aleck,
And I'm way too sarcastic.
But I am my father's daughter.
And I hate the person he's made.
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 6:39 PM UTC
The past imprisons us
In memories of grandeur
Of lives long gone
Of lost loves and stature
The past imprisons us
In ideals and hopeful wishes
Of blissful summers
Love letters and sweet kisses
This past that imprisons
Are but memories now
Of old smiles and old pains
Throbbing echoes somehow
~aleck solier
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 7:03 AM UTC
IT WAS A NIGHT WHEN FLIGHT HADN'T YET BEEN INVENTED
He had a face
like a FOR SALE
sign that
had been there for ever
with the kind of moustache
that smart-aleck kids
would draw upon
a poster of the Mona Lisa.
His eyes were kind of Dalísh
as when the great painter
announced his
own greatness.
Behind him
a yellow half-moon
posed
perched upon his head
as if it was his
own peculiar particular pet
otherwise he was
nondescript
a no-one
that no one would notice.
An announcement announced
that the flight to Dublin
would be delayed
indefinitely.
Outside the snow was
impossible.
It was a night
when flight
hadn't yet been
invented
and only snow
took to the air.
I only noticed him
because a tear
silently and slowly
trickled down
his left cheek
and hung suspended there
for a century it seemed
before falling on the book
before him
that he wasn't reading
only holding as if
in defence against the world
and I wondered what
his grief was.
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 5:26 PM UTC