"compulsory" poems
He awoke.
His eyes opened slowly with a purposeful slowness; an action that for most people is the beginning of their life was, for him, a procrastination.
He arose.
The floor felt cold, unwelcoming as he stumbled reluctantly to the sink. The bristles rasped against his teeth, gums bleeding out of spite.
He entered.
Breakfast—a lonely egg, boring toast—entered his body; each bite was scooped with the utilitarian vigor of one who is no longer enchanted by food, yet the relationship must continue: a compulsory marriage without option for divorce. This discomfort washed down with lemon-water.
He contemplated.
Thoughts, those musings that are feared, condemned by most and yet became the greatest of comforts for him, reminded him that one day it all would end and he would be free.
He wasted.
He stretched out his hands, offering up his life force in the daily sacrifice to the eager god that, in return, lit up with the brightness of a thousand stars that blinded him from all that he wished not to see.
He showered.
Cold water ran down his soul, icing the most superficial inflammations while taunting the deepest wounds; no matter how long he remained behind the curtain, there would be no true respite.
He returned.
The blackness beckoned. He entered willingly, surrendering himself to the dark embrace of that demonic respite, his beloved above all others.
He died, once again.
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 3:28 AM UTC
So much for superheroes saving the day;
Every good guy's epilogue is a cliche.
Tedious compulsory celebrations
For all their mundane actions.
A villain's portrayal is what excites me.
Ever since a kid I could already see;
Creativity in all those gimmicks,
Geniuses of ***** tactics.
It is never easy to become the antagonist.
The object of all hate and blacklist;
The one that is destined to fail,
To fulfill a comic's holy grail.
Yet the bad guys do most of the heavy work,
Perfecting their schemes with an evil smirk;
But every time they're about to win,
The plot will smash their plan to ruins.
They say some people are destined to be heroes;
It's a fate preordained a long time ago.
But the truth is that everyone needs a villain,
To finally uncover their life's meaning.
What the world generally calls as criminals,
In reality are just misunderstood equals.
They taught me more about the cruel life,
Better than any superhero's strife.
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 7:54 PM UTC
Sunsets.
Growing up I never liked the nights, As a child it signified the end of play with the rule that you had to be indoors at dawn.
I remember the evil ticking sound of the tremulous hands of time as we were separated from our friends,
with the sun wrapping up in the fragrant petals of the freezing cold nights.
A spirit locked inside a world of silence and pure nothingness.
The hot fire sparks assaulting my fragile skin of the hands over the fire at the compulsory fireplace,It's streaks of sorrow still trace their way into my soul.
Until the day [God knows when] I saw the beauty of colors blending together, forming a magical hue through (You guessed it.)
a cheap camera lens.
Sunset is twice as beautiful through a camera lens.
Now more than ever I go sit at my betch, snap the beautiful sunsets, and caption them with a nervous pulse knowing it’ll soon end. Only fair since nothing lasts forever.
Darkness closes in, the fun begins. I reach for your hand.
"Come with me into darkness."
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 4:36 AM UTC
The scars on your arms
Form the box of my jail cell.
I'm serving a pseudo-voluntary,
Compulsory sentence for someone
Else's hell.
I guess I chose this fate
Despite it being ****** in front of me.
But the illusion of free will
Is a broken façade of
Immaturity.
I suppose I do like you,
But be with you? I don't know.
Your unblamable desire for
Love and affection is something
I can't show.
Because while your world may be Torture, mine isn't heaven either.
With heart flutters,
Stomach aches,
And leaving class for breathers.
The help that I can give,
Is reaching its end.
And whisperings
Tell me to leave,
From nefarious, bitter friends.
Yet when I entertain departure,
The only things that I'm left with are
My thoughts in the shower,
My tears joining the water,
And I remember looking in the mirror
Trying to figure out where I am.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 8:33 PM UTC
I lived my half dictionary life before I could
comprehend compulsory compromises.
Collectors arise, disguises and devices beeping,
chastising my blindness.
Gather geography from Afghanistan and Myanmar
graciously growing gold gilded gift horses,
gleefully gloating about floating far away.
My hoof beats above concrete match my heart’s defeat
across borders and mountains
embroidering cardboard cut-outs
calling deserts, decorating front covers.
Exhaling handcrafted letters for my missing half,
half demanding highest caliber commanders and half commanding completion.
Jade jays joyfully lay arrays of bouquets
fragile flowers decay faraway
in jawbones and jail cells.
Begging farewells in a hotel’s lobby
began my hobby,
early morning coffee and carbon copies
concurringly cocky around his dead body.
Gang ciphers for cartels are
Christmas bells hissing at collars,
half dollars embellishing bar crawlers
godfathers hollering at car haulers.
Atrocities across cities attack,
attachable atrophies audibly ambush arthritic anthologies.
Anomalies begin apologies between apostrophes,
advancing autonomy arousing ancient animosities.
All eluding Antarctica,
giant frozen crests, multi-coloured ice
hidden in my illustrations
anxious for my distant half.
Friday cassettes and cigarettes
deliberately making bets following “M”.
Breaking bindings and finding “beta” in alphabet,
may feasibly end in debt.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC
I have shared in my time the human illusions,
the muddy foolishness and craving passions.
But something years ago pulled me out of the tide-wash;
I cannot even pretend to be one of the people.
I stand here with open eyes in the clear air growing old.
Watching with interest and considerable nausea,
this time of the demagogues, the shifts of power,
and the pitiless wars that prepare for the fall.
But also the enormous unhuman beauty of things;
rock, sea and stars; fool-proof and permanent.
But as for my children, I would have them
keep their distance from the thickening center,
corruption never has been compulsory.
When the cities lie at the monster's feet
there are left the mountains.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 11:52 AM UTC
Let’s get hysterical.
Let’s go mad
About the Winter Solstice passing
And our football team winning.
We party hard
For Christmas and New Year.
The Americans do Thanksgiving too.
Bad times for turkeys
Great days for making sales.
Anniversaries, birthdays and Celebrity celebrations,
Big Brother and Get Me Out of here.
X Factor and Lithuania’s Got Talent.
All excuses
For making mayhem
And a fast buck.
Any present will do
No matter how useless
Or banal
At times like these.
Compulsory enjoyment
Even if you’re ill.
Oh what sheep we are.
(Apologies to sheep).
We must conform
Comply
Follow fickle fashion
And hug the herd.
We may be social animals,
But woe betide anyone
Who is
Different.
“Be yourself” they say,
But do they mean it?
Course not.
The “Individual” is cursed,
Cast out
A *****
It’s time to stand back,
See the truth
And find your inner soul.
Break the brainwash,
Defy the dictators
The Nanny State
And really,
Really
Be You.
Paul Butters
© PB 1\1\2019.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 6:03 AM UTC
Conquering the world with fear & terror,
Were their techniques & tactics any good?
If they were genuinely powerful indeed,
Would they not show their might in persuasion?
Instilling a fear of death they would not have put efforts,
Did they not know that death is a bitter but compulsory truth of life?
And today the world is largely unaffected by violence,
Efforts are on to defeat death by peaceful means that involve Ethos & Pathos.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 12:46 AM UTC
To thank someone , It means you appreciate his acts or Her acts anytime ... Thanks are like treasures One pushes oneself greatly to afford To the other side anytime ... It's not compulsory to thank someone,but It's a great reaction to one's favor or One's good acts anytime ...
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 9:14 AM UTC
Dads snab back dont have dirt on it
swag
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 9:39 PM UTC
Teeth, rib cages
Hearts, hipbones
Broken thrones
The enigmatic victory of horsefly contempt
Condemned fireflies in midnight sky
Social butterfly and awkward moments
Forced to live with baited breath
Exhale, inhale
Suffocate withering strands of hope
Embellished livestock
Wall street cattle
Compulsory impulse
Genetic malfunctioning solitude
The zenith is reached
Downfall is all that’s left
Watching with wonderment and sealed hearts
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 8:12 PM UTC
I prayed hoped and wished
To meet you
Hoping to emerge together as one
(Then I contradict myself)
(Keeping part of me in reserve)
(As Compulsory preservation)
We both admit our deepest
Most intimate feelings for one another
Our needs met
Our desires set
Our life path carved
Hand in hand
We walk
Together
The depth of our language is unseen
The rock upon which we stand indestructible
The emotion between us like a tsunami
Years have now sealed our bond
Overwhelmed by our love
Devotion
Integrity
Trust
We are so blessed
My love
Accepting you is like embracing my own reflection
Now we are entwined in harmonious bliss
We have what most people seek
But my
reserve
I hope I never have to tap into
If you first depart
Neither do I want you to suffer losing me
Better to have loved n lost
Than never to have loved at all?
One of us is destined to find out
Love~
A double sided coin
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 9:18 PM UTC
FEW POETIC REFLECTIONS ON OLD AGE
Dear Poet Friends, after a long break, I have composed a few lines as a very senior citizen and a lover of poetry. If you like the same, kindly Re-post this poem for wider circulation. Thanks and best wishes, - Raj Nandy of New Delhi.
It has been often been said that old age is that period of life,
When all bad habits are given up on doctor’s advice,
And yet you don’t feel all that good while you survive!
Yet I do try to take some solace from Robert Browning’s poem
‘Rabbi Ben Ezra’ which says;-
‘’Grow old along with me!
For the best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made.’’
Despite my grey hairs and wrinkled face,
With creaking joints and scattered aches and pains,
‘’Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress’’,
In thanks giving to the Lord and sings his praise;
As I recall WB Yeats’ ‘Sailing Byzantium’, - that
lovely poem from my college days.
As our biological clock continues to tick incessantly,
Getting older becomes compulsory.
But becoming Wiser in wrinkled years remains optional,
A choice our free will has the opportunity to make!
I recall what Agatha Christie had once said,
That an archaeologist is the best husband a woman can get,
For the older she gets, the more interested in her he
becomes;
With due respect to our women whose age is impolite
not ask.
Here I recall what the Pulitzer Prize winner Robert Frost
had once said,
That a diplomat is a man who always remembers a woman’s
birthday and not her age.
I recall the observation of Sartre the famous French philosopher
who had said,
That more sand that escapes from the hourglass of our life,
The clearer we should see through it as a blessing of time!
It is true that we live in deeds, not in years; in thoughts, not breaths;
In feelings, not in figures on a dial, - as James Bailey had said.
I finally conclude by quoting the first stanza from ‘Beautiful Old Age’ by DH Lawrence;
‘’It ought to be lovely to be old
To be full of the peace that comes of experience
And wrinkled ripe fulfilment.’’
-Raj Nandy of New Delhi.
Dec 19, 2019
Dec 19, 2019 at 11:04 AM UTC
There exists a mystical and quadruple representation of words, which is likened to a dictatorial Superstate, where translation is subject to that which is spoken, heard, written and read within the context of trans-national capitalism.
As we gaze from beyond the glow of the pulsating circumference, we can humbly acknowledge the ludicrous predicament of the many who are ruled by the few.
The parameters of this earthen citizenship may be somewhat characterized by embracing the perceived benefits of the system and a state of financially intoxicated anosognosia. However, as we traverse this metaphysical cataclysm where the majority votes of public arrangement diametrically oppose absolute law and that which is deemed to be reasonable; our compulsory co-operation self-regulates with a cardiovascular beat of semantic propaganda and monopolized dissention, where the relinquished rights of our revered forefathers have been re-written by coercive legislators in the name of socio-political equality.
The philosophy of meaning and political expression both buries into and removes her gorgeous face from the cuniform textures of Sahara catacombs, where we ****** relate and disengage from the **** with tyranny.
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
She was a stranger.
Cute, freckled, one of the most beautiful smiles.
And when she looked at me it felt right.
He was a stranger.
Nice eyes, a full beard, tall and burly.
His eyes glanced my way one too many times to be coincidental.
With her I felt comfortable, at ease.
It felt right to smile at her and laugh with her,
and even though I knew it would go nowhere it made me happy.
With him I felt a dull excitement, a small thrill.
It felt good knowing that there was a man around that wanted me,
even though I was sure that I didn't want him.
And that is how I know.
Because laughing and smiling at a new girl felt closer to love
than the lingering lustful looks of an unknown man I was told already wanted me.
I used to grasp onto the smallest bit of attention from a man,
falling over myself with feelings at the mere possibility of being loved by one. Its been years since I've felt that way, I've outgrown the falsehoods about what I thought I knew.
I belong with a woman, I just know I do.
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 10:20 PM UTC
i've spent hours cramped over thesaurus pages and days ignoring warnings to write about the people who make me feel the things i am supposed to feel
i've spent sentences and words and enough knowledge to fill volumes like a life-time credit debt, pouring sentiments and metaphors over people who won't even bother to read how i venerate their actions, their touch, their reactions
how i analyze each detail like ive got a four year degree and student loans to last me until im ninety in How to Make Yourself Sick With Overthinking
i've spent so much time deflecting like a broken pinball machine in the back of an old restaurant, telling anyone who listens that people make me feel human, give me emotions, make me feel real
i've never spent enough time away from instant gratification, reaction, attention, to know who i am without the people that fill gaps in my lungs and ribs, who stitch me up and send me into a field of disconcerted intentions and bad messes
i can't wite much about who i am, how i react, my actions, my touch, my reactions. my soul is based off of the fragments of other souls that have touched me.
and still, i want the words and syllables and poetry.
i want the actions and touches and reactions
i want to mean something to the people that mean so much to me
i want someone to raise me to this compulsory apotheosis
it's impossible i am the only one with emotions bursting inside of them like nightlights and meteor showers
i suppose
i haven't spent enough time thinking how
there is a vain narcissism that encompasses a person who, without people, would not be a person at all.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
Some sweet memories of my Village and childhood days :-)
My village, is an Evergreen Heaven, full of singing birds, the crystal clear river with a non-stop flow of water.
A graceful temple of the powerful Goddess, with it attached the sacred Banyan tree. And a beautiful swing by rope for the kids to enjoy their evening.
Men sit chatting under the Banyan tree. Women washing clothes and gossiping near the river side. My village, being a part of God's own country is calm and peaceful for both the old ones and the young ones.
Enchanting festivals happen, specially during summer. The best part of my life is my childhood days in my village. It is blessed by nature with full of greenery on all its sides with paddy fields, coconut,tamarind,mango, neem and the list goes on.
I enjoyed my childhood with my cousins playing Hide and Seek, Lock and Key, Making mud pots which are never allowed to play by the kids nowadays.Those days are filled with pleasure and entertainment.
Competing with the Cuckoo's Coooo making it angry ! Walking on the walls, eating ripe mangoes, climbing on trees..waow ! It was fun :-)
A mischievous chat with Grandma, Grandpa and great Grandma who loved me more than they do themselves.
Making compulsory our afternoon nap, punishing us with his love and care, my Big uncle. He punishes us with his Hand fan or 50 - 100 sit ups holding our ears! But at this moment I realise he did that because he loves us a lot!
Craving to hear songs from the radio and singing along with it, writing it down and learning it by heart :-P
Going for movies with Grandma, it was really a great fun ! Ours was a Joint family system with uncles, aunts,cousins and there was love, understanding, sharing, caring for one another. Having breakfast, lunch and dinner together with the family where there were always laughter and only laughter :-)
Wish all those sweet and golden moments to come back !!!
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 1:48 AM UTC
Rolling-Twisting-Wafting
Distorted cloudy mask
Seized-Enveloped-Constrained
Perverting wicked task
Tasteless-Loveless-Breathless
Compulsory tears are wept
Ambitious-Precocious-Delirious
Perceived utterly inept
Occupant-Observant-Defiant
Definitive answers slurred
Perception-Discretion-Revolution
Autonomy from the herd
Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 1:21 AM UTC
It began outside a stable
Town of Bethlehem 2000 years ago
Shepherds left their fileds in awe
To find Jesus in wooden manger
Two lines to choose back then
One compulsory, one was not
Caesar's census; revenue and crowd control
Other line was quiet; sanctified, seeking Christ Child
Wise men far away, figured, joined the queue
Followed the star, joined the queue
On sand and snow or bitumen black
Trekking fields, forests thick or cities tall
Across the earth, people know
Where to find the queue
Not online; Get up and go
Christmas Eve or Christmas Day
Local churches, chapels small
Country barns, church cafes
Line up outside the doors
Worship Jesus
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 7:10 AM UTC
Stripey, furry, pollen coated
Buzzing summer stillness into life,
Journey of fertility from stamen to
Stamen, pollination, by-product of travail.
Sweet honey stored in citadel honeycomb
Shaped perfectly, Fibonacci sequence,
Queen factory birthing, supplying an army
Compulsory conscription, signed up for life
Common mind, common goal, calculating
Journeys to fertile meadows, returning
Debriefing to communicate flight path,
Destination situation report, until
One day dispatch signals failure
The hive is silenced, the computer
Turned off.
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 7:30 AM UTC
Ah, Yes We Are Commemorating, Our Fellow Fallen Students
We Are Remembering Those Who Fought
For Better Education, Those Who Fought
For Our Identities.
We Are Mourning.
South Africa We're Crying
For Those Students.
_
When The Language Afrikaans Along With English
Was Made Compulsory As a Medium Instruction In Black schools
in 1974.
16 June 1976, Our hero's Marched Peacefully
Demonstrating Government's Unfairness.
_
I Always Read My Book, I Come Towards Names,
Young People Who Were Brutally Killed For Fighting
For What They Wanted:
Their Identity
Fair Education
People Like Hector
Hector Pieterson.
_
We're Memorizing
All Our Fallen Fellow Students
Our True Hero's.
16 June Is, Not To Strip Naked And Get Drunk
Smoke **** And Burn Your Lugs
16 June To Remember
Those Students Who Died For Better Education.
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 8:13 AM UTC
Politics that that tricks the system
Then lick and rick the peasants
Ethical dilemmas of existence
That dilute us from creativity
Ohh I am looking for a finer
taste of tomorrow
Ohh can't wait to see tomorrow
Religious bodies that are linear
In hypocrisy and righteousness
they preach love for a better day
whilst they manipulate and scorn
Ohh I am looking for a finer
taste of tomorrow
Ohh can't wait to see tomorrow
Family units our sole safe base
where values, cultures and beliefs
choke as we morn for our identify
lost like sheep without a shepherd
Ohh I am looking for a finer
taste of tomorrow
Ohh can't wait to see tomorrow
Economic systems that collapse
donning gowns of debt to humanity
sinking in volcanos that explodes
wishing for the money to shower
Ohh I am looking for a finer
taste of tomorrow
Ohh can't wait to see tomorrow
Education that is compulsory
A promise of an non existence future
A fallacy of better jobs and status
all a social indoctrination of the mind
Ohh I am looking for a finer
taste of tomorrow
Ohh can't wait to see tomorrow
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 7:47 AM UTC
They gate crashed to our home in the late morning,
Dressed in the red-shirts, wielding clubs and machetes,
Howling loudly that they are national party officers
Protecting peace and development, that is never seen,
Our country already is crushed to forlorn state
Under the heavy lord of anti-human leadership,
They shamelessly extorted money from my poor father
Which they called compulsory party fees, for what?
A political party whose name is as horrifying as leprosy,
My father hadn’t enough money, they took away in addition
Our only one red cockerel which was learning to crow,
It worked as our family clock on its crowing in the morning,
We had too earmarked it for the next **** fight fete.
Our family hopes for money hinged on its wining the prize
The Proceeds with which hopped to succor ourselves
By funding our mother’s cancer treatment bills.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
The pain seeps out in flashes of insanity
I do not doubt you love me
Though I will always wonder why
In my shattered self-image
In my innate ability to be unseen
Was born an adolescent desire
A desperate need
A yen to be quenched of doubt
To be noticed
To be seen
Both within and without
In that longing to be alive
To be sure that I am a tangible being
In that way I push limits
I test boundaries like a child
Taxing the last nerve of an exhausted parent
Pushing hard until something breaks
Proving I matter enough
Or proving I can bend reality
Until I matter not
To anyone
For surely there is a reason I remain
Unseen
Unheard
Invisible
Intangible
Irrelevant
And Unnoticed
So I push when I'm hurt
Because you promised you won't leave
And I believe you
You said I meant everything I always wanted to mean to someone
And I believe you
You said you'd do anything and everything it takes to make me smile
And I believe you
The pain seeps out in flashes of insanity
I test boundaries like a child
Not because I doubt you
Because I need to always believe
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 4:09 AM UTC
The clock on the wall is God. His hands, sweeping by, reminding us that time is running out. So get to it, boy. The window is my eye. Looking to possibility as a green horizon. And the path is the new vein, running down my arm. Saying, "Blood is compulsory".
These shoes. I have always known I walk around at the expense of my sole. Wearing thin. But my feet feel so much better there.
I breathe in. I am told it is holiday nuts. Cinnamon. And air that is just a little to clean. But I like it just the same.
We let ourselves move the puzzle pieces into place, one by one, knowing what the picture was going to be already. We squeezed the last bit of it out with our hands until the juice ran down our arms and we held the pulp out like offerings to strange gods. We fought and fought to meet at the center and then promptly forgot why we were there.
And I am taken back to my nephews. The smiles. The reminder that blades of grass split our toes and somewhere in that is childhood. And I roll the ball to him and say, "Kick it." and he doesn't. And I say, "Not yet? Okay. I'll roll it slower." And he doesn't. And I smile and say "We'll wait". And he smiles and says, "It's okay. You'll figure it out." And I will.
Our strange adventure will be pushed into one point. Carried away like jasper. And the images of the Apache Dinae, the ears, the cloud we rode through, the ocean, and each of the little things will yellow and crack until it is nostalgic and sweet. Honey. Wine. Thyme and thyme again. Rolling down and creating a glow in the bottom of my stomach. Stoking my fire. Using my ennui as kindling.
Listen. Listen to each click. Listen to it saying, "It.. is.. never... too.. late."
My hands are sticky with possibility. The strange gods have begun to lap at my fingers. And I can see the look on the face of my nephew when he finally kicks the ball.
The clock on my wall is God. His hands are still. My hands are covered in hope. And I have begun to remember something I'd forgotten.
Jul 27, 2011
Jul 27, 2011 at 9:03 AM UTC