"bureaucrat" poems
Prologue
casual glance at my notifications while driving even though
I’m all ready a bad bad boy, cruising at a sedate,
cruise-controlled 70 mph vs. the bureaucrat bifocals 55,
a remnant regulation of the Eighties,
all the while humming with Gilligan
“a 3 hour tour,
2 passengers set sail that day”
then execute a four lane 180,
gotta get highway sideway grassed ,
cause i’m gassed...
by a Poem Breach
of the poems promised by me,
to write of thee,
you, my best inspiration,
the list grows longer, faster
than the hours provided
pull over fast emergency for my composure breached,
my vision wetted, my eyes hit by an unplanned unexpected,
sudden summer thunderstorm
<•>
The Poem Breach
***once more into the breach thy words breeze through my chest,
like on a flamed stick, night roasting, toasting beach summer marshmallows,
that cut direct to the ineffable sadness that resides resists within,
that sticky, white mess,
a human heart melting
a thank you message that I’ve read before,
many times more than once,
how my unasked poem, a sun unique,
arrived at the
precise time and place,
to lift and even save,
how could I’ve know?
I did not know
but these messages collect on my chest,
unsought words of purple ribbon metal that make a
less burdened cowardly lion,
grown man cry,
do crazy things for it is a possible solution to his
age old quest
Why do I exist, is this my purposed plan, don’t understand, all
but the answer peaked and peaceful accepted in the breach unreasoned,
my port of entry, a gateway to the scales, a bridge it is, over a time-life river styx and unstuck, yet certainly always confused...***
“It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.”
thank you so insufficient
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
There is not much to gamble
a drunk ramble,
midnight gunshots
but the city didnt hear,
because violence is it's old peer
and there nothing peaceful
when putting a wager
a blade being your avenger
I'm balling
gambling, falling
and there is the traffic,
spills on the road like molten gold
all the smoke coming out of one *****
city a two thousand years old
Only god really judges you here
because god's not a bureaucrat
look at people and memories leer
and where exactly
is this god of yours at?
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 3:57 AM UTC
I shouldn’t really be writing this naïve drivel. I have no idea at all of the hardships these desperate people go through. I wanted to imagine how it must feel though to finally find yourself in front of an uncaring bureaucracy. Obviously I, a secure white Englishman, whose history goes back hundreds of years in this my home country, am far too safe to understand. My pen came up with this. I hope it doesn’t offend anyone.
The hopelessness…
Invalidated…
It was such an ugly word
So many tall letters
It looked faintly absurd.
But the word simply robbed him
Of chances he had
Struggles to get here
So brutal, so bad.
Beaten, raped and robbed
He’d slipped out of Mogadishu
His parents both dead now
He was there sole issue.
He paid all his money
For a hopeless sea trek
And got washed up on shore
Now the boat was a wreck.
It was filled to the gunwales
With people like he
Many were lost
As the boat wrecked at sea.
But he never gave up
He just fought all the way
And now six months later
He arrived at this day.
The bureaucrat before him
Had a large black word stamp
He was clutching it so hard
He surely had cramp.
And then there it was
That strange looking word
That made him an alien
Akin to a ****
So all of the struggles
And all of the pain
Now left him deflated
It had all been in vain.
How desperate he’d journeyed
To leave behind war
What now! Invalidated!
His future unsure!
©Joe Wilson – The hopelessness…2015
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 7:05 AM UTC
Speak Power to Truth, but watch out for Lie Poem
3/01/2014
Sometimes we are afraid to speak Truth to Power.
Have you ever heard that phrase uttered
by some token card pushing sack of potatoes?
I want to know :
Who are these Truth and Power characters?
Why are we afraid to speak with them?
Fear not, I'll break it down,
I met Truth in 8th grade,
watched friends steal candy from a store,
then they shouted, "Wynn go take some more."
Egging on persistent - I couldn't ignore.
I snuck the snack in to my pocket,
pretended I dropped it.
left enough change on the counter
to pay for my friends and more,
high hived my friend Truth as I walked out the door.
I met Power high up in a tower
of offices.
That's right, Power is a bureaucrat who stamps a time clock.
Every single weekday,
as a weak single,
like you and me, maybe.
Power worked for my university
signed my paychecks,
and didn't like me at all.
Power threw a power trip, extorted, blackmailed me and all,
I got was secret meetings behind closed doors,
Power threw me out
said Wynn we don't need you anymore.
I met Truth a 2nd time when I fell in love
and had Truth tell me, Wynn admit it,
this isn't the stranger you've been dreaming of.
But I didn't follow Truth's advice,
Instead I listened to Lie,
and continued to suffer
until emotionally I wanted to die.
Lie, is another character you will tend to get involved with.
Each day in a mirror Lie reviews your clothes,
whispers in your ear you should starve,
need to become beautiful,
to lose weight,
and change french fries for grapes.
Lie wears a funny suit and shows up at your door,
will try to sell you **** on silver platters,
as if you needed anymore,
Power came again to me,
at a protest in the mall,
said freeze, put your hands in the air,
don't move, stay where you are.
Power wields handcuffs,
forged from metal, emotions, or money.
Power is tall and attractive.
Can be so friendly, sweet like honey.
Power is secretly a business partner of everyone in your life.
Power will be there for those who afford to buy its might.
Lie is the friend who your parents say you should kick out of your house,
but instead you awkwardly end up inviting to dinner.
Lie timed their visit strategically.
To dine at your table for free.
(Lie doesn't identify with gender pronouns by the way).
So speak Power to Truth, but watch out for Lie,
because Truth needs Power most,
and Lie will try to hide,
not caring for reasons why.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 6:31 PM UTC
The gruff factory worker
in the coarse leather boots
and stained zubaz pants,
yelped with displeasure
when the tour guide of
the Pullman company town
revealed himself to be a
PhD candidate in English
during a Q-and-A.
He questioned his credentials,
dismissed him as overeducated,
as soft-palmed, not of his caste,
loudly declared that he was
just another bureaucrat in waiting.
"Institutions just exist to perpetuate
themselves; they don't care about
the people, just about keeping
themselves alive," he theatrically
confided to his friend,
wanting to make sure he heard him,
took note of his flagrant, raging skepticism.
"They got to pay the lawyers."
"All these institutions, they don't care about the workers."
We strode on, amid the shadowed reaches of the empty train car factory the owners long ago abandoned to the rustling prairie,
left to the wind and weeds and elements.
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 4:16 AM UTC
is it strange then to long for wild mountains that spring from all angles?
and stretch to the a sky filled with clusters of white
which escape from view quickly with an ocean wind
to see the unordered grass trompled over by livestock
on their way to the sole tree in the pasture
seeking a brief salvation from a stark ozone-less sun
no bureaucrat planned, manicured this land
he did not sit in a lofty office, feeling the cool breeze of electrically chilled air
it was not voted on, the way the waves are to crash
he did not need the approval of his lay out for pebbles on the beach
corruption did not intermingle the trees, making it cumbersome for humans
or the reclining alp's angles
they were left to the law engrained in movement
the unknown dispersion of marbles across the ground, scientific wonders
now they sit, in their building, living monuments of time
springing up from the ground like ant hills
not understanding
standing on the previous lives of men
entitled
my land
my city
my country
and i long for, my archipelago
stretch of green, a harmonious chord
pining after the days
in D.O.C camps
barefooted
gritty
the feel of sand in the bottom of my sleeping bag
and the wonder of no-man's-land
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
A teacher is honored
adored and idolized,
A doctor considered almighty
and worshiped into.
An engineer portrayed
as the pillars of future,
A bureaucrat painted
like a messenger from above.
But little does the world know
the truth of the twilight,
everyone coming here for services
under the low lit alleys.
Alleys that are always looked below
ironically are the alleys of forbidden pleasure,
all i am is just another soul
working to feed her kind
Abused shamed and discriminated
forced to bear an illicit fruit
only to realize she shares the same plight as mine
and yet i put on a smile to serve every night
only to pave a different path, a path
abiding the "NORMS" of society.
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 1:52 PM UTC
Connection
You might be confusing that with discretion
Lesson
Yeah I'll teach you two
Exactly to your heart
Is what I'll do
Second thoughts
Maybe that's
what you should do
Speaking truth or speaking rhythm
Now tell me what's the difference
I can sense the tension the friction the whole she bang
But bang not what I do
Teach I don't preach
Leech on your money
No I got my honey
Goin ham
No I am rabbit
Can't trap me in those lies
Seeking truth and denying
Bureaucrat wanna be
Just wish I could call my family
Family see no evil hear no evil
Do all evil
Believe father ******* whatever you call Him
He is no God
No gift of life
Just whole life struggle
Original sin from blood you were given
No choice
Mama too young
Almost not given her own voice
But thank God you
Rhythm helped you come alive
Scarecrow born in the field
Magic land but no fairytale
Modern society an epiphany of hell
Because we're still spillin blood
In our own streets
Serenity and peace
The enemy of greed
Feed the capitalist horse
Let's go Trojan
Owin to our past what our mother's have lived in
And
Overcome the sin that we falsely believe in plant the gardens in your heart
A seed is just a beginning
If so maybe I'll kiss you
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 5:55 PM UTC
Egalitarians of a smaller world
with forks for fingers
chew loudly on the gravy train
of poor boys paper thin paychecks
spit me out cause I got no cash
better to be on the street with
a shoeless shuffle
than trying to capture a seat
at the silver spoon table....
Pasty-faced bankers counting out loud
the graves of American dreams they spoiled
the song of their voices in unison
is a terrible dirge and a
strange romancer that keeps
one and all clinging to that sweetest of dreams
hope....
Dudley Do Right is a little man
in his little office
acting like the bureaucrat he was born to be
just pennies on the pound for his cold soul
a deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang
his heart a cardboard cutout of his childhood idol
deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang
all these flavorless fools
pay to play on the great machine
where the crowds call for ever more
salacious parody of what should be
where the almighty buck stops here
twice a day
all day Sunday
preacher man
baker, solider, liar, thief
deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang
deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang
© 2018 mark john junor all of my poems are my
exclusive property and all rights are reserved
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 12:11 PM UTC
Rights are inconvenient things,
I’m sure you must agree.
Why guns remain in private hands
is quite the mystery.
Felons will turn in their guns
I’m sure, without a peep.
(Tyrants always take the guns
Before they slaughter sheep)
Once you cannot defend your rights
Who cares what you think or say?
Harry Bellefonte thinks
You should be locked away.
Wouldn’t trials be quicker,
Would not be justice served,
If truth serum was administered
Instead of oaths with words?
Your guns and your religion
are quaint relics of the past.
Sharia law is coming,
Beheadings ought to be a blast.
You clamor to give up your rights.
The leftists are amused.
The ****** of the innocents
For their purpose will be used.
Quite soon you will be powerless
before the Almighty State.
When you fall ill some bureaucrat
will sign off on your fate.
A land without the Bill of Rights-
It ought to give you chills!
Your birthright gone, your children slaves
of the Marxists on the Hill.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 6:02 AM UTC
Rain to snow, snow to ice. Blinded by damp hair and sleet. Running down a steep slope with tonights beer in one hand and in the other half assed tax forms that will most likely be audited by a depressed overweight bureaucrat who gets nothing better out of life than crushing lives of young suckers who didn't pay attention or toss the wrong receipt. He doesn't want your explanations, your excuses, he wants your soul. He wants your soul to fill the void. That gaping hole that was enlarged after his wife divorced him and won sole custody of his three little children. Nothing else left but to pass on his own misery and depression
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
darwinism killed music off:
i moved to scotland for three
years, to the soundtrack
of for the love of a princess,
instead i got a foreign
exchange student from grenoble
studying the death defying
practice of psychology
who said i spoke no organics
in terms of tongue, ****** her
while she crawled into my bed
and lost my virginity like a fox,
on the sly, to the motto i caricatured
saying to fifty thousand pound debt:
only idiots educate themselves these
days -
this atheism non-congregating will
not succeed, it will fail, it will fail, it,
will, fail!
a postcard from a Lebanese girl i asked
for a date to see some moving pictures
didn't help (when i was at high school)...
she read the book the hours
a year later (a virginia woolf adaptation)...
spare the boy! spare the boy for fuck's sake!
old stiff collar ***** **** bureaucrat
just said: verzweiflung verzagen eine gedanke -
für beweis ex pluralismus
(despair despaired a thought - for proof out of
pluralism).
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 8:42 PM UTC
"Universal health care is too expensive,"
explains the fully insured bureaucrat
while his constituents fight to make ends meet
"here, have some more money,"
offers the slick, teflon-coated lobbyist,
best friend of the health-care industry
Obviously the twain have met
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC
Neruda would have been at loss for words,
If he saw what I saw today, if he felt what I felt,today,
Travelling as I was on the Subway.
Am I a Socialist? A Democrat? A Bureaucrat?
A Jew, an Atheist, or a forgotten Hindu?
Reborn, because moksha is for saints?
I don't know what my soul is like, is it blue?
Or is it like a raindrop meandering on a windowpane,
Too embroiled in its grief to care about disappearing,
All the while looking like a tear on the cheek of the Sky.
I doubt Neruda could come up with words for the sight
Of blood and torn skin on the subway tracks,
The organic leftover of a poor ******
Lost to Time.
I have no words, either, my mouth is shut
In the silence of death, because as I stepped over the threshold
And found peace, I found that I had lost my voice.
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 11:08 AM UTC
Quick , gut wrenching , critical decisions rendered in the heat of battle are job requirements for front line commanders ..
Assessment , review and second guessing are the duties of the commanded , for their abilities center on the mundane , methodical , easily reviewable past ..
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 7:25 PM UTC
Your heart is not a bureaucrat,
waiting on tax returns.
Nothing is in writing,
nor verbal contract.
The only inking is flushed skin upon contact.
It is implied.
It's the high road.
It's when the bed shakes during a storm;
It's when the grass grows again in the morning.
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 8:10 PM UTC
there are variants... of the word...
when you're sitting on a windowsill,
and everyone is asleep...
in the middle of the night...
there are variants...
pride...
but the Slavic variant?
almost sounds like a mythological
name of a god...
ah... the game soul reaver...
a name, of a brother...
of Raziel...
Dumah... the rhino...
you can have
the variant...
Dúmāh...
no Hebrew interference...
leave this among the gentiles...
DUMA!
DUMA?! it means! PRIDE!
alternatively it implies
(he's) pondering...
something obscure...
keep me posted,
when you have this sorted out..
i, am | | this close...
to shouting out the written word
into the night...
or should i call the police...
having heard
my female neighbor...
being shouted at by her
husband... oh wait...
she called the police,
before checking on me...
lucky ***** begets an abusive husband...
lucky me...
lucky schadenfreude me...
and i hate that sort of "me"...
i was this close to echoing that name
into the oblivious universe...
pride...
duma...
which also implies pondering...
but it primarily invokes the understanding
of: pride...
now...
tell me why i listened to
the winged hussar death song...
full volume, in classical form?
retards 'r' us?!
what?!
head too small, nose too big?
you have me rattled up to the point
of: let's have the next London bomb,
so i can have my next self-righteous point!
i'm not going to call the police
on her abusive husband,
she chose, she begets the regrets...
there are always two stories...
one... the ****** gets crucified...
two... some ****** plays the bureaucrat
gimmick...
i'm this close to exfoliating
in shouting the naame D'umah!
but... considering how this, *****
called the police on me,
in my hour of peril...
and now she has an abusive husband,
and a baby...
do i look like someone who
gives a ****
do i do?!
suffer ***** suffer!
oh... you think that sadists
are...
what's that psychological word...
that sadists are...
regretting?
no.... that's not it...
sadists...
they're...
sad... amplified sad...
what's amplified sad?
****
regretting? no...
digressive?!
no...
sad,, lonely...
no...
DISGRUNTLED!
yep!
but it's a synonym;
****
what was the word the people
used...
dis- something...
think: lasting impressions...
ah...
d'uh...
"feeling"...
bitter...
could have stated: Lemon... for fuck's sake!
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 12:01 AM UTC
When his heart stopped on the table, and the nurse pronounced the time,
Graham was surprised as any that his consciousness survived.
He was a lifelong bureaucrat; venial, unrefined,
with all of the complexity of a soured table wine.
He was not meet for Heaven. He wasn’t good or kind.
He thought he’d join the Devils, but his option was declined.
So he wandered as a lonely ghost in a world gone monochrome.
Surely there were others like him but they did not make themselves known.
He grew envious of his ashes, resting silent in their urn.
His mortal flesh, consumed by flames, was at no risk of return.
One time he tried to say a prayer, to stir the mystic Chords,
But no one heard a syllable; he had forgotten all his words.
He wandered like this countless years until he lost his mind.
It had been his choice to live like this when he still had world and time.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 9:30 AM UTC
Working-class and Teachers
I'm working-class and proud of it
grew up in the damp shadows of fish factories
we played in grimy streets the sun was
the lamplight after six
and always the persistent drizzle and mist.
School was not much our teacher disliked us
thought to teach us was a waste of time.
By luck, by pluck and ******* stubbornness I got out
saved by the sea breeze I had to be
my own teacher who was stern but not arrogant.
These half- baked teacher they didn't know
Cuba and the sand made in heaven, little bureaucrat
thinking they were intellectuals
I'm still working-class, but my interest is not the same
It has broken down the wall of misery but
The roots are with me I know where I came from
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 8:00 AM UTC
He lounges in his armchair
******* on a ***
And quaffing beer.
His eyes are glued to the telly,
Watching Corrie
Then footie
Before heading off to the pub.
He feels he’s earned his basic pleasures
As he checks his mobile
For emails and Tweets
And Facebook posts.
Comforts earned by slaving away
All day
For some faceless bureaucrat
Hidden away in his company’s
Ivory tower.
For this is Joe Public.
Ignore him at your peril.
He has lots and lots of mates.
And he is fed up of the “Nanny State”
With it’s, “You shouldn’t do this”
And , “You shouldn’t (or should) do that”.
He’s fed up too with the PC Brigade
Having already escaped the “God Squad”.
But he’s ****** angry
At simply being ignored.
You can keep Joe happy
With Celebrity and Social Media
And sport
And even “Pointless Quizzes”.
He avoids Education
To maintain his “Street Cred”.
But there will come a point
When he’s had enough.
And once that happens
His festering grievances
Will surface
Like killer sharks.
And if he joins a mob of like-minded souls
Who knows where that may lead?
Perhaps to Revolution.
So think on, my friend.
Take care of Joe.
Indeed of Every Joe.
For Joe could be
The Most Important Person
In The World.
Paul Butters
© PB 30\11\2019.
Nov 30, 2019
Nov 30, 2019 at 6:10 AM UTC
*
At lunch with Mr. morality-now...
*
Enter Tommy
The bureaucrat
With much aplomb
He'll chew the fat
He will tell you
What it takes
To make the partner-
ships he makes
And how to play
The politics game
And deal with those
Who smear your name
You need to know
Exactly what
Motivates
That pain-in-your-butt
Find out what
They care about
And use some leverage
To beat the lout
Apply some pressure
And you'll find
They'll change their ways
Or lose their mind
Oh, while you're
At it, pray for all
To hear the savior's
Beckon call
That's what Jesus
Of course would do
It's worked for me
It'll work for you
These apparently
Discordant tips
Call into question
All your quips
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 10:14 AM UTC