"columnists" poems
I log into the network of my self-esteem,
To see the hearts and the wows and the laughs flooding in.
A simple 'like' wouldn’t cut it anymore
‘Likes’ were so 2010, even 2010 was bored.
‘Cause that’s the zeitgeist of the age, you see,
A tendency to wear hearts on sleeves.
Loves and kisses are a dime a dozen,
With a million friends and followers double.
National debates and social justice petitions,
Real crises, distorted renditions.
High definition photos of disaster zones
Flash up against cat videos on every smart phone.
Snapchat filters do not lie,
Just tell a story of hours gone by;
Selecting the perfect background, the ideal shade
To express love on the dozen’th date.
But that’s the zeitgeist of the century,
A tendency to wear hearts on sleeves.
To document in minute detail, with extensive pictorial evidence
Clockwork days of humdrum nonchalance.
And perhaps the generation that came before
Would call it vanity, vainglory, or something more.
But it ain’t like they were without their sins,
We didn’t invent tabloid columnists.
And now that we are at the end,
Let me sign off with this request:
Like, comment, and share your love
Let your heart fall out of your shirt cuff.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 1:53 AM UTC
For the uninitiated ones
( unlike columnists and politicians )
to find their by -line
huddled in a local mag
or in an obscure daily --
it's very heaven.
And once their name appears
they preserve the page
underline their name
mark the date
procure many copies of the mag
for adulation and felicitation
of their friends and relations.
Even those who can't pen
a piece worth printing,
would rather plagiarise.
Vanity! O Vanity !
Of being in print !
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 5:10 AM UTC
I'm from the side of the tracks where you won't come back
Sometimes fade to white, sometimes to black
Secreting the pus of another failed lust
My intentions only bending on a whim or a ****
So break the glass over my face and watch me go hard
If I got no other outlet you better hope you'll go far
Because sickles and hammers aren't only symbolic
They can be used to intrude on your systems metabolic
Contortionists form a fist and slick the road for communists
A bottomless populace heavy handed and cacophonous
Desolate like postulates from existentialists, mop your ****
And follow it with sawed-off **** shotguns for columnists
So open up these ******* veins, I got no reason to try and change
Scatter-brained, like blood insane in dark fantasies untamed
Unchained and ********* and horse-laced with your taste
My way is the highway so don't **** with my **** deranged
I'm sick like
*** it's exciting
To know you're dying
From the first breath
You're primed for death
And there's nothing left
Like 21 grams
And ***** sexts
It's a blank slate
And my blood's paint
For the walls of
The Satanic Saints
To **** my brain
And **** myself
Because it's easier
Than killing everyone else
No ******* effort, no giving a ****
Surely I am broken like a Muslim's ****
So you're right to be scared
Sure you're checking my history
To make sure that no one
Is trying to **** me
I'm ugly, my soul is black
And I'm happily taking nothing back
I told you I needed an outlet
But don't assume I'm finished yet
Nov 24, 2017
Nov 24, 2017 at 11:33 PM UTC