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"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
0
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
that poem breach
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
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46
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?
0
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 3:57 AM UTC
Balling in kathmandu
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
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Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 7:05 AM UTC
The hopelessness...
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.
0
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 6:31 PM UTC
Speak Power to Truth, but watch out for Lie
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.
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66
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.
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Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 4:16 AM UTC
Labor Day
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
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Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
European Landlock
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.
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Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 1:52 PM UTC
The dark twilight
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
0
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 5:55 PM UTC
Spicy
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
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Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 12:11 PM UTC
a deadeye wrangler
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.
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Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 6:02 AM UTC
The Bill of Wrongs
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
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Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
The Bureaucrat
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).
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Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 8:42 PM UTC
explicit darwinism
"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
0
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC
Serving Their Own Interests
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.
0
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 11:08 AM UTC
Moksha 1
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 ..
0
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 7:25 PM UTC
Leader versus Bureaucrat
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.
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Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 8:10 PM UTC
Paperwork
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!
0
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 12:01 AM UTC
D'umah
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!
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104
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.
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Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 9:30 AM UTC
The Lonely Ghost
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
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Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 8:00 AM UTC
working class and teachers
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.
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Nov 30, 2019
Nov 30, 2019 at 6:10 AM UTC
Joe Public
* 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
0
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 10:14 AM UTC
Discord