"atticus" poems
We may all seem different,
but at the end of the day,
we’re all the same in lots of ways.
No matter where we’ve been,
or who we’ve seen
The consequences of our actions
ultimately add up.
It’s not just a dream.
We must not fear,
And if we stand up,
the goodness within
will overpower.
This is enough.
We may have different beliefs,
labels and signs,
But if we are true to ourselves
it will all be just fine.
And when we reach a point in our lives
when it’s time to say,
stop crying,
I knew it would happen anyway.
Accepting and loving,
this is my virtue.
Open and honest,
I hope I have taught you.
Overcome your prejudice
and make ends meet.
You know I always say,
don’t do it in your home
if you won't do it on the streets.
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 8:06 PM UTC
Small talk is much more of the former than the latter,
small, definitely,
but I've rarely, ever, talked.
My favourite?
"How Are You?"
As if the true gauge of such a complex question
can be summed up in a random stop and chat.
My response?
"not bad",
or something similar no doubt,
but sometimes,
I feel like being honest...
honestly...
i feel like boo radley in a town full of atticus,
feel like i deserve no more than the back of the bus,
feel like every single word that i say,
is another cliche, just another cliche,
feel completely silent, scream with no effect,
hope to find a true meaning, it still hasn't happened yet,
feel divided, from this joke we partake in,
where every single victory, is simply, a fake win,
why is nostalgia the only feeling that's appealing?
back when inadequacies weren't worth concealing,
that's all i cherish, that's all i want now,
and instead i'm standing here, and you're wondering how...
am i?
“...How Are You?!”
when fate's gentle whisper turns into a scream,
and crashing down come all of your dreams,
a roaring tide from what once was a stream,
tell me, is everything as lost as it seems?
"when one door closes, another one opens!",
that's nonsense,
i'm staring at a one-sided peephole, hoping,
that the people that said they would help,
and forgot,
truly feel how the hell i've felt.
...that's how i am.
Jan 21, 2011
Jan 21, 2011 at 10:14 AM UTC
Have you ever met a person
who at first glance
you’re not attracted to
but then you talk
and with every word
every smile
every laugh
they become more beautiful
until you can’t believe
there was a moment
you didn’t think they were
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 10:26 PM UTC
There he waits,
the Nice Guy,
looking academic
and out of reach
in his tweed.
There's something
feminine in the way
he crosses his legs,
draping right over left in the fainting chair.
There you are, across from
him, at this party your
roommate dragged you to.
And you ask how he is.
He ushers you to his chair.
Sit down, sit down. I insist.
You know, he says. Most people
would tell you they're good or just fine.
The Nice Guy reassures you he is
not most people. He's a Nice Guy;
he's down with feminism, waves
One through Three.
He has a dog named Atticus.
They frequent open-air bars
in the summer.
He's a Nice Guy, an old soul,
someone who should have been
a young man in the 60s.
God, he has so many female friends
he tells you, leaning on the banister,
sipping on Glenfiddich.
You wonder how he is. This was your question.
He has so many female friends. Notice
how I'm stressing the word friends, he says.
I do, you say.
He's a Nice Guy and all these female friends
they're all the same. They love the bad boys,
the rich snobs, the ******* jocks.
I don't, you say.
Oh, sure you do, he Nice Guy-splains to you.
And there's a golden light coming from the chandelier
behind him, and he looks so holy and pure as he tells
you how one day Tara, Sam, Whitney, and Amber
will wake the **** up and realize just what they're missing.
But by then, this Nice Guy will have rambled on. He'll become
someone's second husband. A Good Woman will see how precious, how rare this Nice Guy truly is.
Okay, you say.
Prove me wrong, the Nice Guy says. He leans in closer.
You can smell the scotch. Prove me wrong.
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 1:21 PM UTC
the only time we care about the poor
is in disaster,
there's been freedom for decades,
but we're still owned by slave masters,
incorporated trademarks
branded on our spine,
the american dream,
might as well be bovine.
flagpole sitting flappers,
never expect to fall,
'33 til infinity,
greed affects us all,
and it's more,
than a disease,
there's no atticus,
instead, great gatsbies.
and boo radley,
aint gonna right these wrongs,
all we've got are our words
and the will to stand strong,
and it seems we're just monkeys,
launched into orbit,
in spaceships,
that only fall once reality hits,
and i don't see any solutions soon,
we consume and presume,
that this is all a cartoon,
asterix fiction,
we lack conviction,
we lack the diction,
to speak our mind,
we are confined,
to the roles,
and the moulds,
and the holes,
that are made for our souls,
we stay out of the spotlight,
even when the times right,
allergic to great heights,
like madden going to superbowls.
ice cold,
a wise man said was cooler than cool
but these fools aint never heard of ice-nine,
it's the right time,
got the right rhymes,
who cares about these thugs,
i'm set on madoff crimes,
who cares about the dealers,
follow the money like the wire,
we're civilians in vans under apache fire,
and the cover-up is comin,
the cover-up is comin
the cover-up is comin
the cover-up is comin
the only time i'm hostile,
is within,
when i gotta smile
at these businessmen,
that are tearing us apart,
and ******** on our soil,
tearing out our hearts,
creeping like the mcboyles,
i've toiled in the trenches,
for most of my days,
as have the majority of those i know,
and we can't just quit,
we gotta get paid,
materialstic societies depend on dough,
so we dream of being on boats like samberg
the only threat to our fatasses is the hamburg
-ler, there's no cure, there's no care,
there's no health, it's not fair,
but if you keep on dreamin, one day it'll be there,
simply stare at the sun, things'll brighten up,
keep buying that product, trust me, they give a ****
fall into place, stand in single file,
and whatever you do, don't forget to smile.
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 4:21 PM UTC
I am nineteen
And sitting in an over-glorified sports bar,
Telling him about my ex
Who would sip from the Devil's cup
And pummel my face
When he tells me
"You are too young to have dealt with that."
And I almost cry.
Because having been involved
In some serious **** before my 18th birthday,
I am afraid to tell him
That I have seen my friends
In coffins with track marks kissing their veins
And truly guilty rapists walk free.
I am ashamed to say
That I know what it is like
To have a person say to me
With no concern, only disdain
"Are you going to calm down
Or do I have to call the police this time?"
I took Atticus Finch too seriously
When he said to put on your fellow man's shoes
And walk around in them.
I have been on first dates in mental hospitals
And I became addicted to nicotine
By tasting it on men's breath
And he would be appalled to find out
The real reasons
I don't drink.
In a world where a year ago
I had to ask to leave the room and ****
I am now in a world
Where I am condemned
For not knowing where I'm going yet
But I will be dammed
If I do not know
What you're allowed to gift someone
Who is in the hospital after a suicide attempt
Or drug overdose.
Books, but only ones with non-controversial themes,
Shoes, laces prohibited.
It seems to me that they know
That my connection to this earth
Has become so frail
That even a shoelace
Could sever it.
His eyes are as young as mine
But he is saying these things to me
With a cigarette in his hand
And the weight of sleepless nights on his shoulders.
And I want to tell him that pain isn't relative
And what hurt me
May **** him
But I will not burden him
With the knowledge
That life gets better
Because I know he is hard headed.
I wonder some nights
If a shoelace is all it would take for him, too
And I almost cry.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 3:00 AM UTC
The air was chill and darkness fell as bells rang and the rabble gathered.
A British sentry had struck a lad; some said his jaw was shattered.
Some four hundred Bostonians were milling about his station.
Eight Redcoats, each with rifle cocked, tried to defuse the situation.
The crowd was in an ugly mood; they would not let this slide.
The soldiers were pelted with rocks and snow, but as yet no one had died.
Private Montgomery was knocked down And muttered **** you, Fire.”
He discharged his weapon into the ground, and that shot provoked their ire.
Captain Preston never issued the command, but a ragged volley was fired.
Eleven colonists were hit, three of them expired.
The crowd in panic then dispersed, and the troop of men retired.
A black man, Crispus Atticus, was among those who had died.
The mood was tense in Boston and those troops were charged and tried.
John Adams won acquittal, he was brilliant in defense.
But the crowd still felt injustice, and there's been no peace since.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 9:00 AM UTC
There are some things in life
that you have to do knowing
you're going to lose.
Life isn't a game, and
you'll never be crowned winner,
so stop racing to the finish.
Walk tall.
Walk slow.
Savor every step,
and I promise you,
losing won't feel so bad.
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 12:15 AM UTC
I wonder if you would like another child,
even one who is a problem to teach.
It's just that your manner is rather mild,
and patiently forgiving when you preach.
Would you show me the courage in losing,
valor without violence? I wonder
can I love with more than selfish choosing?
Can you help me silence hateful thunder?
I would trade anger for a head that's clear.
Teach with fire, curse words, flowers if you can.
Remind me there are enough sunbeams here,
that you don't mind me much the way I am.
Could you teach me how to live with myself
so that I can live with anyone else?
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
i didn't mourn your death
i didn't cry, didn't scream
didn't **** the world or any god for taking you away
and then i remember
english class, we all had to memorize Atticus's speech
you know, the one in the courtroom where he defended Tom Robinson
and then i remember
that you sang about leaving us before any of us knew you were gone
ziggy stardust, i miss you
and then i remember
i'm 7, maybe 8 years old
you taught me what imagination meant, what i could do, what alternate universes i could create
and then i remember
you loved so much you died with a secret
as i grew, i learned how to understand you
and then i remember
the day purple rain meant a nation mourning in unity
and then i remember
your song was in shrek and i'm sorry but that association from my childhood never left me
and then i remember
the amount of pain you endured
and then i remember
i was 11, my brother was singing along to hotel california, introduced me to your band and pointed you out to me
"that's glenn frey he's the guitarist"
and then i remember
why this year has been such a dark one
so much of the light has vanished with you
and then i remember
i never gave myself a chance to mourn your death
-z.z
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 6:52 PM UTC
There were no sounds
When I walked.
There was no breath
In the cold air.
There was no moon,
Just the light
Of a phone
And a cigarette half done.
With the revelation
Of my solitude:
Stinging, soothing;
And in an attempt
To find the noise
That in silence
Left a while ago,
I sang a song,
The only one I knew.
*“I have loved
And I have died.
And they’re the same
The pride, the shame.
I have prayed
And I have laid
In the biblical sense
As my penitence.
But no man has ever
Told me more clever
Jokes or tales
Over cold beer and ale,
As my papa, the Lord
Of my room and board.
He gave me a home
For only me to know
With a bed to love in,
With a head in the oven.
So mama lay me down
Take off this old crown
No more guesses
No more addresses
Return to sender
This old fender
Oh mama, help me!
Tell Atticus to shoot me,
For all the ashes and embers
Have made me remember:
I have crawled about
I have clamored to shout
I have begged like a dog
I have prayed to some god
And mama no man has come
To give me some
Lesson on how to love”*
There were no voices,
To deliver my choices,
For the cruel night,
Was callous and blithe.
The frost in the air
Cut off my hair
To make me a Samson,
To make me the real son,
As I walked home alone
While no moon shone.
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 6:56 PM UTC
Atticus Fife plundered his tomes and fondled his books with his milky eye. A shade of grey has crept into his blue, and The Help is more helpful as of late. He shuffles, having lost his gait, but never does he wander off... Atticus Fife glissandos over the parchments and leather-bound lungs. He inhales the Past; elated. His limp eyes galloping over the deserts of his un-simple mind, past the creekbeds of his revery, and the unspoken Hopes of his Frailty.
Atticus Fife, leads a very fine Life... Like a Destiny.
Or a lamb to the Doubt.
Happily.
Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 12:20 AM UTC
_"i don't believe in magic."
the young boy said.
the old man smiled.
"you will, when you see her."
- atticus_
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 11:11 PM UTC
You will be missed, friend,
Yet your life has just begun,
You are forever.
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 11:43 PM UTC
Room and pillar
Let me be your guiding shaft
Atmospheric pressure
Let me be your natural draft
Atticus Finch
Let me be your inner last laugh
Cold determiner
Let me be your unsuspecting half
The sign in the window says
Closed until the light of day
Broken bone
Let me be your sling and marrow
Agitated Polaire
Let me be your tight-laced narrow
Confounded Plath
Let me be your children's tomorrow
Germ warfare
Let me be your biological sorrow
The word on the street is
Nothing's gonna change until the light of day
Open minefield
Let me be your measured step
***** mother
Let me be your usual suspect
Unwanted child
Let me be the tears when you last wept
Unwanted immigrant
Let me be the ground where you last slept
The writing on the wall signals
Critical times until the light of day
lumière du jour
Chérie
Nov 7, 2019
Nov 7, 2019 at 5:18 PM UTC
_"her hand in his, he became her tomorrows."
- atticus_
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 11:44 AM UTC
_"i will follow you, my love, to the edge of all our days, to our very last tomorrows."
- atticus_
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 12:03 PM UTC
_"never the way she looked
always the way she was
i could have fallen in love with her
with my eyes closed."
- atticus_
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 12:48 PM UTC
Stay nice.
A piece of advice. A note to myself when I've lost it all.
Stay nice. Even if you hate the world, or angst has driven a ***** through your heart- even if your soul is blacker than death- even if they stole from you what made you real- even if your hurting or a fire burns your smile up-
stay nice.
Does it help to hurt the pain? Does it help to run the good away? Does it help to drop the mic, because the song was too hard for comprehension?
What do you learn by throwing a fit or stealing a smile or telling a friend you quit?
Be the change you wish to see! If you want life to be a tree and each person to be a fruit then be the fertilizer, or rain, or sun. Help the fruits to ripen. Teach people that no one is just a number. No one is just another atom on earth. Be the Atticus Finch. Be the warming parental figure to the world. You cannot force a change in anyone and you cannot make rightful karma come, but you can smile through it and be the contagious laughter. No matter how frusterating it gets or trying it will seem, may you always remember who you want to be and who you are inside, (no matter what anyone else can say) may you always-
Stay nice.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 2:35 AM UTC