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Odysseus needs a job he calls pima community college art department chairperson sends her his resume she does not respond after a week he catches her on phone she says he lacks proper credentials laughs to himself his whole life never worked lucrative or reputable position gets job working at thrift store wacky group of coworkers customers store frequently smells like public latrine job expires after 7 weeks he gets better paying job working at record exchange Odysseus always loved music everyday he learns new artist or band his coworkers are at least half his age they pester him about being slow on keyboard he never learned to type neither he nor his generation could have foreseen future would revolve around keyboard he plods on register keys people smile politely kids he works with fly fast making many keyboard mistakes November 29 2001 george harrison dies of cancer he is 58 years old Odysseus recognizes he is from past world different era of contrasting standards ‘80’s behavior is totally unbefitting let alone ‘60’s beliefs it is 2002 and one badly chosen word is sure to send someone flying off the handle he watches his language carefully co-workers mostly born in 1980’s grew up in 1990’s they live indifferent to hopelessness he struggles to bear none of them believe in higher power music is their religion he wonders what their visions concerns for humanity are? they seem addicted to consumption as if it is end in itself he questions what is hidden at root of their absorption? loneliness? despair? apathy? absence of vision? where is their rage against social conversion current administration? he warns them about homeland security act privacy infringement increased government secrecy power they shrug their shoulders why aren’t they looking for answers? why don’t they dissent? do they care where world is going? he realizes they will have to learn for themselves few coworkers read literature or know painters philosophy their passions are video games marijuana “star wars” most of them are extremely bright more informed than he often Odysseus needs to ask questions they know answers to right off the bat he is like winsome uncle who puts up with their unremitting teasing “hey you old hippie punk rocker get you fiber in today? stools looking a little loose! peace out old man” in peculiar way he finds enough belonging he so desperately needs they tell him stories about their friends *** addictions eating disorders futile deaths he is bowled over by how young they are to know such stuff job includes health insurance which is something he has not had since Dad was alive having some cash flowing in he buys laptop computer with high-speed connection cell phone trades in toyota for truck opens crate of writings he abandoned in ‘80’s begins to rewrite story sits blurry eyed in front of computer screen his motivation has always been to tell truth as he knows it he wonders what ramifications his labor will bring positive or negative results? he guesses his story will sound like children’s fable in stark brutality of distant future october 2002 3 week ****** spree terrorizes maryland virginia  district of columbia 10 people killed 3 critically wounded police believe white van responsible october 24 man and 17-year-old boy arrested in blue chevy caprice juvenile is shooter assailants linked to string of random murders including unsolved shooting of man at golf course in tucson Odysseus mentions incident at work speaks of prevailing terror madness in america co-workers kid tell him he is crazy “did you see a white van parked outside the store Odys?” they seem desensitized to increasing national atmosphere of anger panic or perhaps they are overwhelmed by weight trauma of modern life lie after lie prevailing  havoc slaughter make for dull numbness in world they know suicide is compelling option december 22nd 2002 joe strummer dies from heart failure at age 50 Odysseus’s eyes wet he adored the clash everything they stood for loved joe strummer and mescaleros he plays “global a go-go” over and over listens sings along with first track “johnny appleseed” march 2003 president bush launches attack against iraq united states seems drunk with “shock and awe” zealous blind patriotism many people politicians countries around globe question unproven line of reasoning saddam hussein possesses “weapons of mass destruction” Odysseus gripes “not another **** vietnam” record company allows employees to check out take home used product Odysseus stopped watching movies in 1980’s he has lots of catching up to do particularly likes “natural born killers” “american history x” “american ******” “fight club” “way of the gun” “******” “king of new york” “basquiat” “frida” “*******” “before night falls” “quills” “requiem for a dream” “vanilla sky” “boys don’t cry” “being john malkovich” “adaptation” “kids” “lost in translation” “25th hour” “28 days later” “monster” “city of god” “gangs of new york” “**** bill” list goes on perfect circle becomes his favorite band followed by tool lacuna coil my morning jacket brian jonestown massacre flaming lips dredg drive-by truckers dropkick murphys flogging mollies nofx stereophonics eels weakerthans centro-matic califone godspeed you black emperor magnetic fields fiery furnaces dresden dolls smog granddaddy calexico howie gelb sufjan stevens warren haynes dax riggs john vanderslice alejandro escovedo sean paul elephant man bjork p. j. harvey ani difranco aimee mann cat power sophie b. hawkins kathleen edwards mia doi todd kimya dawson regina spektor carina round neko case fiona apple nina nastasia beth gibbons mirah rasputina dr. dre talib kweli immortal technique murs slug atmosphere trick daddy eazy-e tricky list goes on october 21 2003 elliott smith commits suicide stabbing 2 wounds into his chest Odysseus thinks about music when jimi hendrix stood up at woodstock deconstructing national anthem on guitar it took courage when punk emerged with ugly screechy sounds attempting to divorce itself from melodious harmonies of 1970s complacent crosby stills nash  the dead kennedys and *** pistol did not pander to conventional commercial success what they performed were desperate gutsy songs trying to reclaim music rock’n’roll is no longer about inventing instead it imitates its glorious past hip-hop and rap come nearest to risking rebellion but are caught in gangsterism infantile self-adulation no longer does music offer vision of what is or could be instead it conjures looping escapism from hopelessness of modern life he continues working at record shop for several years store contains every genre of music cinema he grows weary of retail sales weary of higher-ups constantly changing rules dictating what to do head manager is manipulative drama queen thrives on crisis once in private admits stealing from company Odysseus nods not knowing what to say head manager works Odysseus hard keeps him down atmosphere of conspiracy betrayal hang at start of each day assistant manager routinely taunts berates bullies teases regularly calls Odysseus “dumb-****” or “****-up” other times laughs after goading Odysseus to flinch eventually bully backs off and they become friends retail pushes Odysseus to brink of misanthropy corporation requires all employees to exercise overt courteousness while serving a public of disrespectful gang bangers demanding “show me black market brotha lynch mac dre why ya godda keep dat **** behind da counter? dat’s ****** up hey old man i ain’t got all day” it always amazes him when shoplifter is caught with product stuffed down his pants thief blatantly states “i didn’t do it i don’t know how that got there” thanksgiving through christmas to new years is most swarming stressful he feels like automaton greeting customer scanning product looking at screen to see if price agrees with product typing money amount counting money into drawer counting money out handing change to customer handing customer product receipt next customer cockroach capitalism packs of masses line up in endless stream of needs stupid remarks job also involves trade appraising condition value resale probability of cds dvds video games tapes vhs vinyl news of  iraq war gets dismal mounting civilian casualties suicide bombers hostages beheadings beginning of 2004 reports of torture ****** psychological abuse **** ****** ****** of prisoners at abu ghraib prison guantanamo bay white house cover-ups denials growing insurgency increasing u.s. body count other costs he thinks about men and women who are so much braver than him then comes re-election and lavish republican parties parades cheney rumsfeld tom delay and whole regime smirk portentously on tv none of it makes sense anymore “we the people of the united states” what does it mean? the dreams and aspirations of his generation have long since faded away he is citizen of forgotten past current world is barbaric place he barely recognizes there are real pirates with machetes rocket launchers on the seas big drug corporations hiding harmful findings kidnapped children abandoned children crooked politicians corruption at every level of society horrifying stories daily ******* priests slave markets extreme heinous cruelties abruptly everyone is acknowledging society is worsening life is not the same he does not understand people and certainly does not understand america or the world he remembers when all could be so good modern existence has turned everything into madness what happened to lessons of history? it is as if Odysseus fell asleep and when he woke everything is changed he is mistaken about what he thinks he knows feels pity for people america pity disgust sorrow he misses his dog
WhyamIaSpoon Jan 2012
My auspicious and audacious assault augments the annoyance of aged accomplices.

My bodacious broadside of boffolas berates and buffaloes bros beneficently.

A classy crusade Clownishly chiseling and criticizing childishness.

A devilish ******* of dillydallying dullards; devoutly denying dimwits the dulcet dream of defiance.

Excessive, exuberant edification, ebulliently eliminating education-evictees.

A fair-weather frolic in flippancy with furious fools floundering in flawed foppishness.

Gregariously grating glum guys gleefully, growing grander garnishes of gripping gallantry gaily.

Heckling hooligans highlights my heavenly humor.

Irreverently irking irritable, iniquitous idiots in inestimably infuriating and incredible instances.

A jolly, jocular **** joking with jerks.

A kreiger kicking kleptomaniacs in the karyotype. (Cut me some slack, this is 'k', after all.)

A ludicrous, laughing lambaste of lollygagging lunatics, loftily loosing luscious lunacy on lucky losers.

A magnificent masterpiece of malfeasance, a monstrous, malevolent mission of massive misfortune for the minor minors missing no malicious missive.

A noxious, narcissistic niggling of nitwits, niftily nixing the noisome naivete of niggardly nobs.

An offhand, off-color outburst of outlandish observations to outclass the obnoxious overtures of obsequious offal.

A pragmatic prediction of possible platitudes or platypi, a placid parley of pyrotechnic pleasantries provoking Pyrrhic protections by prurient prats.

A quixotic quibble quarreling with a queer quarry.

Ribald ribbing, ruining the robust reality of the repreachful, repugnant, and rapacious with risque ridiculousness.

A silly, slighting slander of sluglike slavishness, succinctly sinking sloppy simpletons sourly.

Tracing the titillating talent of towing tyranny to towering terrors to tactless, togless, terrapins of the times.
                                                                ­            avoiding
                                            ­                                cloud’s
                                                                ­       melancholy
                                                      ­                        gaze
                                    ­                                                                 ­                                                        awaiting
                                                                ­                                                                 ­                                sun’s
                                                                ­                                                                 ­                              embrace

-Vijayalakshmi Harish

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Just need some sunshine now!
Jacqueline Anne Feb 2015
Orange clouds of crystal and
halos of gossamer dust,
regal and iridescent
in all of their shine encrust.

The crown of dominion
a minister of the skies,
surfaces integrity
in winds it's vaporised.

Striking down in lightening
his electric charge berates,
a celestial karma
sacred justice gravitates.

Casting shadows of chaos
with red blemishes of rage.
His sceptre in thunder bolts,
universal he's a sage.

©Jacqui Slade
Seanathon Apr 2017
My voice is in the falling rain
A crashing rolling weeping realm
My song of storms proudly proclaims
These clouded skies are falling down

Back to the earth from whence they came
A moist collection careening down
To crash into the waterways
And sing my song clear and aloud

Into your ears I whisper rain
And share my secrets so profound
As droplets cleanse the concrete stains
They sweep away the sorrow sounds

So here I sits by window panes
To smell the sky and taste the clouds
Though thunder rolls and storms berates
My song remains like falling sounds
Sometimes when the words are just right. They just all align and walk through the door together in unison. Or at least so it was with this creation. Be sure and listen to me read it on my SoundCloud account. Link below. And thank you for reading, sharing, commenting, and following along as you feel called. (:
Jodie LindaMae Dec 2013
Shortly after the school systems began defecating on the dreams of my generation,
We found different outlets
Through which we could bring our loathing to a head.
My generation now writes poetry and
Finds solace in video games we can beat
In lives we can't seem to live the right way.

It's funny to me that The Legend of Zelda,
When completed,
Tells you that "You are great!"
While your teacher berates you for being sub-par
Though you tried your damnedest
To please them through drafts and drafts
And drafts of work
Spat out at 4am because
There are more important things to deal with
In regular waking hours,
In regular waking life.

They tell us that we have failed
Because we ****** up in one class,
A single credit,
A single number on a sheet of paper
That tries to measure us
When we can't even attempt to do the same.
They tell us we have failed
Because we do not look good on file
And apparently we do not look good
Walking down the street
With ****** eyes and baggy sweaters,
The only clean clothes we own
Because the system has ****** us clean of time
To do much else than
Study, study, STUDY our **** lives away.

This is atrocious.
When a young boy feels more accomplished
Beating Pokemon
Than he does when he writes a stellar paper,
The best he can pen
Only to be told he has a lot more work to do
And that the paper
"Is good...
But it needs work."

The culture of my generation does not discriminate.
It does not tell us that we have more work to do.
Instead, it tells us that "we are great" and
It gives us a restart screen when we **** up beyond repair.
It does not tell us we have failed,
Instead offers us a kind
"Try again?"

It is sad
When the voice over of a video game
Offers more kindness
Than our instructors and parents

School should not send us home, wanting to **** ourselves.
The system should not make a pen cap,
A pair of underpants, a simple metal bookmark
A weapon
In the hands of the human entity of depression.

We will not be marked suicide risks.
As long as we keep getting our restart screens and
Compliments from bits,
We will triumph.
We will be the heroes of our generation
As long as we keep getting the chance.

One day, when all the suffering is over
And we have escaped this war-torn soul of "The Caring Community,"
Maybe those words will extend from an NES and find their way
Into the mouth of a boyfriend, girlfriend,
Wife, husband, friend, professor...

Someday, we will hear the words and we will truly believe them.

"You are great!"

Maybe not today...

But someday.

Bryan Gewickey Apr 2013
Please and thank you,
so curtsy often
to the brown and gold
array arras errat error
and enter
for a new age-
is much less a new page
than old pages burned.

To think and dream is not the age we are,
but blatant blatancy
berates the timid temperance of tolerance
in such a brutal light
that tiptoes are required footwear
for all 6 companies that run
the treadmill of deeliteful light.
and it delights in light
and fruitless
iamtalking of course
about the horse,
the dog,
the cat,
the viral virus of vermin
to break up our monotony,
all that is necessary is
to be willing
to shed the opinions of the mass
-ive ignorance
and think,
but more than most,
to breathe in compassion
Raj Arumugam Jun 2014
let there be no bitterness in my heart
no regrets, no judgement that berates
let me walk on my path,
let there be birds that shall sing
let there be joy in my heart
and may that be shared by those that I
might meet on my way

let me not value, nor pass sentence
let me not frown, or smirk
let me have my path that is radiant
with no system, nor ownership
free of labels
and may I walk that way, my own
let there be the sun, the moon and space
all things that exist, in their nature
and let those Mighty Here and Above
know I will not follow nor will be followed
and if it need be, may others be pleased
when they shall see me pass by
Miss Grim Apr 2017
A play unfolds in my mind each night
As two opposing forces fight for control
The nefarious darkness assembles its army of thoughts to lay siege upon the throne of light.
Reason fires down from the compassionate wall
As the guilt slithers its way to the top.
The loathing berates the beautiful moat until the trenches give way to a cleansing flood.
As dawn emerges the enemies call a cease replenish their armies for the twilight to come.
vea vents Apr 2016
I have this voice inside of me which drives me to despair;
Even after every effort made — it still berates beyond repair.

I have this voice inside of me, it screams, it kicks, it yells;
Even as I lay in perfect silence, it commands from tortured hells.

I have this voice inside of me, it has multiplied beyond belief;
I see it lies in all I’ve met — proceeds in everyone — without relief.

I have this voice inside of me, one which came from you;
All the lies you ever told me — they grew, they grew, they grew...

I have a mind inside of me, it haunts me through and through;
If I should ever die by my own hand, it spoke to me, through you.


I know of parts inside of me, at first I couldn’t distinguish the two;
One from me and one from you, one was false and another, true.


Another part inside of me, seeks to end your reign;
Perhaps by then, I will be governed by silence, perhaps by then, it won’t have to be feigned.

Another part inside of me, pleads for a higher path,
It pleads for me to surface, all in the wake of your aftermath.


I feel a beating within me, which yearns to live and grow,
*Even in the screams and contractions, a substance beneath me flows.
Head and Heart

"Buddha says that unless you **** your parents you will never become free. Killing the parents means killing the voice of the parent inside you, killing the conscience inside you, dropping these nonsense ideas and starting to live your own life according to your own consciousness. Remember, consciousness has to be more and conscience has to be less. By and by, conscience has to disappear completely and pure consciousness has to be lived. Consciousness is the law – let consciousness be the only law. Then whatsoever you feel, it is your life. You have to decide. It is nobody else’s life; nobody else has any right to decide."
-- Osho
Seanathon May 2017
Ours is like a strand of yarn
Stretched across a narrow gap
Though the wind berates
And the rain pours out in the summer storm
It will not break, it will endure
But perhaps in time will sag and fray
As if we let it so to go
Or even chose to cut it down
Because you have your own phone lines now
Made of woven steel and unbroken arms
As we were just a childhood yarn
Or a single strand between two hearts
Perhaps one day...most likely. I'll be a memory In your mind.
aspen simone Nov 2013
I can't remember the last time
I dreamed
And that makes me sad
Almost nostalgic
For those days when my brain was too full
To not dream
Those days that marked me
Colored me full
Colored me pretty
And interesting
Like the pages of a printed
Special movie edition book
Now I'm more like
An old leatherbound cookbook
Beaten and worn from past usage
Torn pages
Yellowed corners
But might as well be empty because I am used no more
Full of beautiful recipes and possibilities
But too weak and fallen apart
To be reconsidered
I can't remember the last time I laughed
With someone who understands me
With someone who couldn't say
"Oh that's so funny"
When I tell a joke that's not
And instead berates me
For being so lame
But in a loving way
But this does not make me nostalgic
Because you always find someone better
People come and go
So do dreams I suppose...

Somehow it's different
Somehow it's not the same
I need to have dreams to know I'm still alive inside
And people can only prove I've got a physical body
That's all
Raphael Cheong Mar 2017
the hands of the clock are spinning
with broken bars on the playground
skipping stones
when things started to get a little heavy
we paused our breathing for an aftermath of sorts
but never saw it happen
the chiming gets louder
the bad kids come out to play
stringing words through fences
hardly a crooked smile
or stare
we're not going anywhere
it's daylight
we snooze our dreams because
they might never take flight
we sit on the bleachers
we live vicariously
we tear jealousy from magazine covers
because that's how we live
we step on broken mirrors but they do not hurt
these times in twos we're forced to live
the heavy gets heavier
the heart gets harder to breathe
we begin to look for fingers to grab
fingers of grief
kisses through teeth
we make bad decisions that spin
on some nights we kneel
but Sunday morning is not for another 12 hours
we return to wallow
in a certain hollowness still unfilled
the cycle repeats; we're waiting for night to come
around like a boomerang
were these years formative?
or maybe just an excuse for destruction
regrets fizzle
but never make it pass the sheet of ice
and a little wiser
just a little
the handlebars come off
once upon a time this was a vision
and now the hurdles are broken
until new ones come along
once upon a time this was a scream in the night
now there are bells
and lights
and buzzing
the chiming gets louder
the albatross is passed
around like a boomerang
an encumbrance
it berates me
we're looking for reasons to swallow
all this guilt and all their shadow
I scramble to my feet
to put this banner together brick
by boring brick
it feels all too valorous
to exclaim that I have broken the wheel
in time to come I shall fall back
into clutches
and fingers and teeth
and bad kissing
a half-open grey goose on the mantelpiece
half-opened desires
and some squabbling in my chest
more chandeliers
and more yet to come
as I fizzle into some chasm unbeknown
surely there is more falling to come
but for now
the hands of the clock are
Chloë Fuller Oct 2014
He stands tall
vertebrae linear
shining like the moon
sugar skin wrapped around  
delicate bones
and hardworking hands

He exudes comfort
like a warm summer night lying beneath billions of
they shine brighter with him
like crystals

Flowers grow from him
His heart is so much more caring than the sun
who berates delicate green tendrils with unforgiving heat
mysterious clouds can't shield his
effervescent energy
nor can smoke

He shoots electricity from his
sparking life

He lifts massive weights
of time
of pressure
from the world's shoulders

He is now and infinite.
twelve caesuras Jun 2014
bad dreams make great nightmares longer
great nightmares make strong fears stronger
strong fears make the weak ones weaker
lazy faith born of thrill seekers

i heard that a war is brewing
wonder what that **** king's doing!
thirty years of strife awaits us
still, the papacy berates us

golden coins for all the nobles
poverty goes to the locals
listen to the windows shatter
listen to the royals scatter

get away from here my darling,
they are drooling, gnashing, gnarling
blood drips down their very fingers
copper taste that always lingers

black out curtains for the demons
black teeth has the man that leads them
black souls for the massive forces
cavalry rides on black horses

i hate them all with such a passion
they with their fine silks and fashions
hang them with a string of diamonds
each and all the reigning tyrants

you say that i've lost my senses
really, i've just gained defenses
i have never seen so clearly!
all the people love to fear me!

i'll search for a group of valk'ries
find a wizard blessed with alch'my
then i'll overtake the kingdom
rip apart the church of england

i can see it now—they're kneeling!
makes my heart burst—oh, the feeling!
the old king's dead—yes, hail this savior!
who's killed this kingdom's bad behavior!

my, my thoughts are turning darker
but i lack those cracks in armor
who cares if my traits are mangled
snap my fingers, wealthy strangled

get away from me, my darling,
i am slashing, burning, snarling
death sticks to my face and fingers
bees die when they lose their stingers
i had a dream that i was a peasant and i tried to conquer england, rome, then the world, during the late middle ages.
Brad Lambert Jul 2014
"I went back home when things got ugly."
O' things be a'gettin' uglier-ugly these days.
These days spent slipping into subtle sub-absurdities.
These days spent alone with the maimed voices of vocal minds.

I caught a ratta-boar-ship sailin' across the mellow seas.
Its engine burned on days past and the trimmings of willow trees.
Oil pools and plumes. How all colors do break!
Tongue-in-cheek statements cross my illogical state.

I’m all a’breakin’ down on these dead-leaf mounds.
The rabbit breaks swiftly at the neck without sound.
I pledge fanfare to the reeds in the marshes between woods.
Aye, this confidence had been borne of harshness, all raked.

You line'd and fume'd– body and mind and breath.
Yea, my love burns long before fleeting into death.
Spin some honey in mud, them lies are laced with truths.
Honey hunted down from them hives all exhumed.

I exclaim, for I know.
Facts gathered from sea-salt snows
were read concisely and plain.
One must share what one knows:

This craft berates waves.
So intent on indexing all of those days.
Such absurdity. How vexing.
Confusion! Confusion! So bent and off-putting.
‘Twas Confusion who first sank in simple, mud-less footing.
Her clumsiness could not be stayed, nor postponed or ever-praised.
No, not by slipshod attempts at brewing a lightly-dark grey.
Spare drops a'dribblin' 'round the base of the water tower.
Shadows of clouds with night approaching by the hour.
Knocks a’rappin’ on a door hung without hinges.
Stomachs full of hunger. Hearts fearing blood.
Lungs on smoke-binges. Forest fires during floods.
My body's burnt-out on them rank soul-singes.
Confusion bating breath through chapped-lip fringes
whilst catching fish without string.
As the sun at dawn and the moon at dusk,
steam rises when eyes have been cast far from us.

Waters be a'ripplin' beneath your trudge-boots.
In the marshes makin' movements in the moonlight.
Only patience will bring the sunlight.
"I’m raking harshness in the morning."
ji Jan 2015
My body is a canvass
Tinted are griefs
Of reminiscent past

My body is a wall--
A mural of every break, every fall

My body is a plate
Etched of anguish my mind berates

I am a paint--
Deep, dark burgundy--
The shade of my soul's ignominy

I am a brush--
Strokes of hate in the evening's hush

I am a clay--
Molded in disappointment and dismay

I am a charcoal--
Smudged by idiocy
And ideas that are shoal

My body is a sculpture--
Crafted with unsightliness and disgust

I am an edifice--
A construction of mars,
Founded by scars

I am the thread of my clothes--
I wear to cover my bones--
   I hide in the closet--
I deeply loathe

I am a masterpiece--
Of repugnance and self-grudge;
Of vexation, of lies--
Of hate! Of hate! Of hate!

I am an art--
A sophisticated tragedy,
An intricate catastrophe
Perfection in all grotesquerie
Samy Ounon Oct 2014
Sordid stepping from the left arise
For to the right she’d seldom think to see
Lashes just like spider webs o’er eyes
Which sweep the mist and catch me as I sleep.

The new Sprit with the eyes in wich he’d trapped
The strings of many precedented fates
Grazes on the threshold of the lapse
Of recognition; there the left berates.

The Sprit of spirits potent in her kind
Her all-assuming manifested craze
Ejecting me from woeful holds I find
Rejectamenta clothed in urbane gaze.

The Sprit of desperate threaded fingers jousts
The Sprit of spirits: sovereign of doubt.
Andrew Wenson Nov 2012
-   The irate Englishman berates his pupils for losing track of gods.

-   **Children of the Corn was originally written by James Frazier.
April 18th, 2012
BR Nov 2017
Wind berates the window panes in angry exclamations
And the walls groan with the intermittent vibrations of my father’s steady blows-
With every other heavy step the leaden strokes of his fury, a loaded roque mallet meets the wall, meant for me.
And deep in my body, white terror (boiler heat)
climbs the stairs in syncopated heart beats.

Daddy, can you hear me in there?

But I think he’s gone,
and I’m running.

Long hallways, deep black, and the crack of his weapon send shrill fear in (fire hose) snakes down my back.


I think daddy is gone,
This inhuman place took him.

In the back of my mind,
(You’ve got to keep your love alive),
In the back of my mind,
(I know that you tried.)

There always comes the end of the line, and as I beat daddy to the attic by a step, I know I’ve reached mine.
There is nowhere to go.
There is nowhere to hide.

“If my daddy is in there, he knows that you lied!
You’re just a false face, just a big hungry void,
and you swallow men like him to survive.
If my daddy is in there– ”

And all at once, his countenance changed.
A man hollowed by agonized sorrow, he bled,
(Monsters are real)
“Doc, run away quick-”
(And ghosts are too)
“But remember this-”
(They live inside of us)
“Remember I love you.”
(And sometimes they win.)

And I believe him.
I kiss his blood stained fingers,
And vignettes of sweet memories pass between us, fading with the hue of humanity in his eyes-

And I cannot say goodbye.

The mallet ascends to end him-
A coup de grace, a bleak salvation,
So that I can look upon the mangled maw of the awful stronghold that held him.

“Masks off, then,”
It says.

And I grin.
Riq Schwartz May 2014
I can write out the sounds,
     prepositions and nouns
          that would help us to better relate,
but I can't stand to keep
     all these things in the deep,
          so allow me to pontificate.

I have wrings on my hands,
     broken bones in my tongue.
          I have methods of making me sane.
But this madness escapes
     when my feeling berates
          sensibilities trapped in my brain.

I feel stupid and foolish,
     unsightly and ghoulish,
          like I'm breaking my back as I walk.
I have whispers and sighs
     just in back of my eyes
          cause I can't stand to hear myself talk.

There are reasons and doubts
     that I can't live without,
          and my mind's a marina of stone
where excuses abound,
     and you won't hear a sound
          cause in here, you're completely alone.

I have struggled and sought
     to direct where I walk
          so my steps stray away from this place.
But with each passing day,
     I examine the way
          that I'm losing the whole human race.

I'll escape with my pride,
     and my veins open wide -
          even then, only once in a while -
just to trip down the street,
     keeping quick on my feet,
          holding fast to my Cheshire smile.
Olivia Kent Jan 2014
Second Sonnet

Sailing on seas of seven.
Thy beauty blessed by the tide.
Drifts on seeking love in Heaven.
To be thy one and only bride.
Thou hast greeted winter's chill.
Deliver thine 'o' child in time.
Desires not thine heart to ****.
Cold of winters changed in clime.
Time deeply changed her precious form
Thine way of love decapitates.
When winter leaves may love be warm.
A cherished heart he so berates.
Should summer not again be found.
Thy love not locked underground.

By ladylivvi1

© 2014 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Well I actually quite like these...however, the Baird I shall never be!
RisingUp Apr 2016
She finishes writing the test
Thankful her anxious brain can rest

But the test isn't actually done,
As students discuss the answers to number one.

They compare solutions,
go over the questions they found tough,
The girl wishes she could plug her ears,
But the students haven't had enough.

As they talk they realize they got some wrong,
But take it lightly in stride,
They do not know that if the girl joined in,
it'd crush her soul and pride.

Because it starts the criticism rolling,
Bashes her left and right,
"How could you get such an easy question wrong?
You're anything but bright"

"Try harder next time,
come on, I'm sure you can do better.
You need to do well, idiot,
A is the golden letter"

Others wonder why she doesn't join in
On the post-test debates,
If only they knew the anxiety and sadness it brought her,
Her mind, how it self-berates.

The girl is working to quiet the noise,
To silence the negative notions,
But until then don't discuss too much in her presence,
Step by step, she's setting positivity in motion.
Chloë Fuller Oct 2014
you are my oak tree, the rock at the base of the oak tree and the river the flows beneath it
your generous shade keeps me cool when the sun berates me
you are thirsty but you ask for no water
instead you offer me hydration
you grow tall, but i see you beginning to wilt due to my negligence
let me help you stay alive, you have to tell me
this poem is for my father
Michelle May 2013
The ice cold glass, all torn right through
So close to shattering and crashing in
Reflecting a broken and beautiful you
Shaping and showing all sorts of sin
A heated glance, all feverish at first
Tears you down and berates your heart
Seems so tame, so far from your worst
But it rips right in and rends you apart
Your eyes, they glimmer and rove the glass
Scornful and doubtful and shameful, as well
Praying this hell will verily pass
And the terror, the tears remain in their shell
The very worst judge, and jury, too
Is no more than a mirror, none other than you
Devon Haley Mar 2017
My father made me feel
like I was never good enough.
My grades were never high enough,
my weight never low enough,
and I was never pretty enough.
It's a hard lesson to live with
when it berates you every time you
come home.

My first boyfriend emotionally abused me.
Toyed with me and used me
to try and get what he wanted.
Sexually harassed me in the middle of class
and I was told by my friends he'd hit me one day.
When I refused to give in to his pathetic whims,
he resigned to talking to his ex girlfriend
because I wasn't good enough.

The next three guys I was with was really only one,
who came back each time after breaking me
with a new excuse, a new reason to reel me in.
Break up with me, date someone else,
ask for me back and then flirt with someone else.
I still was't good enough no matter what I did.

I moved on finally and met the next guy.
A presumed sweetheart who had issues, like me.
But his daddy issues and inability to show emotion,
slowly suffocated me.
His own insecurities attacked mine
and instead of trying to make me feel good about myself,
he insisted on asking me why
I wasn't as good as the other girls he'd been with.

And now I've met you.
You came into my life when I least expected it
and have exceeded all of my highest expectations
because you treat me how I deserve
and never let me forget my worth.
So, I'm sorry I get insecure,
and ask you to not bring things up.
I understand that I am unreasonable sometimes
and I know there's no cure for the mess that I am.
But after all is said and done,
theres nothing I'm more grateful for
than you saying you understand.
Bailey Kreutzer Feb 2015
Again the tides swells fiercely
In a wave of hindersome despair
Relentless it berates my shores
Leaving me cold and numb
Desperately gasping for air
For the hundredth time
JP Mantler May 2016
I realize I'll fall through every hole
Find a new love and **** myself for it
Find a way out but they eat me all up
I eat and I eat; don't get any bigger
Too tiny to be seen by God's mercy
You hung pamphlets all over my room

I'm not cold, I'm not sick
(You have the nerve which berates me)
I'm just doing as best as I can

It's overcast now but I'm not complaining
Helping hands aren't trying to choke me
So don't run away, please don't
My God won't help me but they will
The wrath of poison swallows me whole

I'm not cold, I'm not sick
Just know that I'm actually okay
false evidence appearing real
aeoxi May 2016
Someone stole my mind
They crept into my head
They took control of my body and live the life I led
When they look into the mirror it is I who stares back    
But my true defining features are something that they lack.

Someone's in my body trying to steal my mind
no matter where I go they always creep behind
They look apon me sickly        
My dreams twisted in a haze  
This insanity berates me
Why won't they go away
Larry Fowler Dec 2010
Eyes toward the sky, tentative

hand bringing shade to his face

clouds full with potent moisture, drifting

against the backdrop, infinity’s place

searching for clues to permanence

breath grown quietly still

alert for a message

aware that it could suddenly will

him the answer, through words

his ears couldn’t possibly hear

for only the strings of his Soul

could play so lyrically clear

the loss of his innocence berates him

and screams lest he forget

that time in itself is no remedy

and patience can often be met

with more loss

while sadness in echoing cries

rallies round him in hope of deliverance

then just as suddenly, dies

bedeviled he stands with eyes to the heavens

misty dreams of a path so long ago taken

and into himself he purposefully fell

knowing then that he’d been mistaken

and that life would never forsake him..
Copyright 2010 Larry Fowler
Mark Wanless Jun 2019
"And The World Is Human"

Children laugh in their innocent play
A young man loves his wife today
A twice worn dress is thrown away
        And the world is human.

An unknowing child is lost then found
A bleeding man attracts a crowd
The carousing deaf like their music loud
        And the world is human.

A ****** man has a love for life
A pious man berates his wife
A robust man knows pain and strife
        And the world is human.

In all the lands there's old and new
And time flows on for me and you
There are many wonders left it's true
        And the world is human.
Seanathon Feb 2017
Nothing makes me smile like a dark day
Like the heavy rain
Which openly berates the crowd
But smiles at me on its way down

As I run from my car
But not to hide
No I run from my car to get inside
Because I'm late as late can be
And if I had no responsibilities
I would let the time slip and slide away
Within such rain

I would trod the squishy flooded ground
And turn my head up to the sky
To declare my love for such a day
And to kiss the open honest clouds

I’m struck by this
Isn't it funny how?
No matter how hard the rain may fall
Your thirst is never quenched at all
By the rain drops tumbling down
How silly are the people who frown
At such rain
This is an old one. What took me so long? LOL
H Phone Jul 2017
We listen to the same songs
I don’t want to be
The reason you hate them now
The reason they hurt you now
I don’t want to cloud
The meaning of their sound
With the memory of me
Of times that were more happy

We like the same food
I don’t want to be
The reason you eat no longer
The reason your meals take longer
I don’t want that hunger
To keep you suspended, hung or
Turn into a craving for me
For times that were more happy

We play the same games
I don’t want to be
The reason you start no more
The reason you quit before
You get to the final stage or
Go through the final boss door
Behind is a twisted image of me
Of times that were more happy

We live off the same air
I don’t want to be
The reason your breathing fades
The reason your heart berates
Slowing down your heart rate
Blood boiling with hate
Because your heart fell for the bait
Of a future with me
Of times that would be happy
love of my heart
rip me apart
leave me here in the drive way.
She left again, she left again.
Is it always going to be this way.

My mother
I love her
she hates me she hates me.
My mother
my suffer
Berates me and hates me.

I never wanted your face
Your smile  your eyes.
I never wanted to disgrace
Your assumptions you surmised.

I never wanted to be
what you wanted from me
I never wanted your hate.

My mother
my first lover
my suffer
my first pain.
My mother
I love her.
My mother
my insane.
RisingUp May 2017
Imagine opening your eyes in the morning
Yawning at the start of a new day

Birds chirp and the sun shines into your bedroom
As you begin to gain consciousness, you may think
"I'm excited to go to school today" or
"Work will be interesting"

But in my mind the bully steps onto the stage
Get moving, start doing, it endlessly berates
Sleeping in isn't an option today

What I should do is based on my thought out inadequacies
Too fat, too lazy, the gym is where you'll go
But I'm trying to exercise for wellness
Where's the distinction? I don't know.

You didn't accomplish much yesterday
Not enough was done
You should have been studying more
In my mind these thoughts run

You are not good enough
Endlessly on repeat
Overthinking everything
Sensitive to everything I eat.

Intense, strong emotions
cloud my mind
The bully in my head
Is never very kind.

"Just don't listen to it"
"You know that's not true"
But it's so natural and automatic
For years it's told me what to do

This same drive propelled me
To excel in school
To be athletic and involved
It was a useful tool

Before Gr. 12 it wasn't so harsh all the time
When it became more malicious
I am not so sure
I endlessly compare myself to everyone I encounter

So balance is what I'm trying to find
Its inclinations I'm trying to endure


Each day a war
Each day a battle
Some are better than others
I'm striving for equilibrium
And to make peace with the bully

Demonizing the bully is not effective
Nor is dismissing its thoughts
Because bullies have their own muddled pasts
I believe my bully is a little girl that is fraught

She's trying to keep me in line
Aware of the passing of time
Anxious about what's to come
Believes in control, well at least some

I have always worried about the future
Unsure of what lies there
Control is an attempt to ensure success
In a world that is uncertain and unfair

I busy myself in an attempt to distract
But I get so busy I throw myself off track
Forget to focus on what I have learned
To recognize I needn't be so concerned

It seems as I cycle through periods of stress
When my mood and my mind are more of a mess
When my coping methods may not be the best
But rest assured I'm trying, I'm trying on this quest

The surface you see may not really be me
I try to put on a brave face
Decisions, the future, which were terrifying to me
I'm now living through, to discover who I'll be

Before I go to bed
With the bully still in my head
What quiets her is utter exhaustion
But what sustains me is an ember of hope
That what I've endured can help others
All I want to do is help others
And make a difference in someone else's life
To assist them in alleviating parts of their strife
ConfusedCabbage Dec 2017
I want to die.

There. I said it.
I wrestle with every waking moment
wondering if I will finally pull the trigger.

It berates me emotionally.
The friendships I've lost
the lovers I couldn't please,
have all felt this inner turmoil of mine.

It's so close to brimming to the surface.
All the while I am consumed by searching for a
glimmer of hope,
the so called 'silver lining'
Or  the will to push on.

But somehow I do.
I'm nowhere even remotely close to feeling sane
Or safe enough to hold a knife without testing
how sharp it is by gliding it along my scars first.

There is light..
But everywhere I turn..

It deserts me

— The End —