"councillor" poems
As long as it doesn't hurt,
I want you to imagine watching me being torn apart,
by powerful galloping stallions in a crowd full of naive people.
As I'm torn,
my deepest darkest secrets that only you know,
come pouring out.
You have become protective of these secrets because you have helped keep them for so long.
so you can feel my pain as the incidence unfolds before your eyes,
there is nothing you can do but watch and feel.
This is why I burnout and freakout,
every time I hear the word councillor or support,
it's like someone taking your job and getting respect for not knowing it like you did.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 5:57 PM UTC
My plan is to graduate, go to college in some state
To take my friend to Canada before it's too late
I want to be a teacher or a councillor, something nice
I want to travel around the world, no matter the price
To go see China and learn the language and their ways
To go to Africa and watch how they live for days
I want to travel to India and visit some friends
I want to spend my life in Italy and hope it never ends
Germany, France, Mexico, Spain
Romania, Greece, Iraq, Ukraine
I really need to go to "the land of the green"
Meet up with friends and do everything in between
I know that I won't travel that far or do all of those things
But I have to be honest, it's a wonderful dream
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 9:16 PM UTC
I had been keeping a safe emotional distance from her
Since she found out about the cutting, the eating disorders
and all the rest of the lies
I never really could talk to my mother
Especially since she doesn't deal
With shattered souls
Very gently
She yells when she doesn't know how to cope
And it just makes it worse
Because feelings are not logical
And she is more of a logic person
But she was in my room
Talking to me about our plans for tomorrow
Who was picking who up where and when etc.
And I had a song playing in the background
I listened too hard to the lyrics
Memories flashed back
And I burst into tears
At first she did the whole typical of her:
Grow up, get over it, stop being overdramatic and attention seeking thing
but when she saw my eyes
filled with tears
her baby daughter's eyes
in so much pain
she started crying too
and I recoiled at her embrace
I didn't want her comfort
She was never there for me
When I really needed her to be
And I am fairly unforgiving
About things like that
But I had been so alone
For so long
That year, I had spent full days
In black clothes
And total silence
Not speaking to anyone ever at all
because everyone hated me
No one wanted to be friends
With the girl who keeps getting called
To the councillor's office
And as this song brought me to tears
I couldn't take being alone anymore
So I let my mother hold me
She whisper through choked sobs: are you really still that sad about everything that happened?
And I answered in a hollow voice:
Mom. You have no idea...how broken I have been.
And she never did.
Loneliness
Is a scarring
type of agony
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
Feeling selfish
For resting
Councillor says
Your selfish for not resting
Delagate
Dump
Do another day
Don't bother
4 kids to mother
Pain makes you nasty
Irritable emotional
irrational
Horrible
Meds make you *****
Clumsy dangerous to drive
Rest is all I have
too be my best
Thinking the 4 Ds
Is how I role
Banish these feelings of guilt
I rest
To be my best .
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 11:26 AM UTC
My councillor once told me
that living was just like walking
we learn to walk through life and sometimes
we accidentally knock into things
and some of us,
we might learn to avoid knocking into things
or grow stronger so we break whatever we knock
but some of us might continue tripping on rocks
and after knocking things,
over and over and over again,
we get tired of falling and scraping ourselves
and we find that we soon fall into despair
and maybe one day, some of us will learn
to break our obstacles or avoid them
but some of us?
they never get up.
some metaphorically, some literally.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 7:51 AM UTC
they want to read you and not think, so too they want to read you and not see, they hardly care for punctuation necessarily used, so who's out there to please? n'ah really, i was onto something, i meant that if the Kantian thing-in-itself was applied to the cartesian expression, either thinking-in-itself or being-in-itself is jested at, then we can explain the freedoms of disobedience and obedience, truthfulness and falsehood, and the parody of paradoxes, as highest claimants the claimants: (singular plural) choice - whereas will (plural adjective congregating into singular) is always a butterfly fluctuation of measuring an exactness akin to dating and remembering 1066 the battle of Hastings.
mingle Kant with Descartes and you get thought as the
per se existence - splitting into either fact of coining
phrases or robbing someone: no doubt (existential
good faith) and certainly no denial (existential
bad faith) - mingle Kant with Descartes
and you get the twins
cogito ergo sum mingling with noumenon,
and thus somewhere along the line
you get to see the membrane of the zygote,
like the thought behind a criminal life
where the life is unexplained because the thought
of such a life is "easily" accessed,
so too in reverse, i.e. being a councillor
or a clerk makes such thinking easily explained
for the prop of the life lived "easily" justified via
the person trading tomatoes or lamb shanks
to keep you unthinking in a bureaucratic role.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
All that way
and all that time,
and still we never
got to bring you home,
my son.
We left you where you lay
most of the day until the end
came quite suddenly
out of the blue
and we lost you.
Looking back I imagine
there was more
I could have done,
more I should have seen,
but the councillor said
it was just the mind playing tricks:
you can't have know what was wrong
and even the medical team
had no clue what it was or what to do
until it was too late,
and you were wrecked,
my son, through their neglect.
I wish we had talked more that day,
had discussed the whole
panorama of the day,
but we sat and talked
now and then as time
went past us as we sat,
and that sadly was that.
Time has flown.
The grief of losing you
retains its hold,
the memory of those long days
and the loss remain and hurt,
and darkness comes and plants
its seeds on which
my Black Dog feeds.
All that way and time
and you gone and me here
listening to the tides of time
flow by and those dark
grey clouds in the sky.
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 3:55 AM UTC
They call me The Pastor
a ten year alcoholic who rose miraculously out of the bottle.
Who would have thought our magnetically charged hearts
were tough as planets.
They call me The Pastor although my rough beginnings
quickly kicked me out of God's House.
Or so I thought.
I roamed and bled ten thousand shades of darkness only to discover none of it was really mine.
How ironic.
They call me The Pastor, friends of mine, always seeking answers to tough riddles where they lay stretched out inbetween Wrong and Right.
They call me The Councillor for always listening to their problems.
Little did they know I was also trying to solve mine by seeing how they coped with theirs.
We are puzzle pieces to a mystery only we can solve by loving those fragmented parts of ourselves people closest to us threw away.
Do you realize how long it took for me to figure that out?
It feels like a thousand years.
They call me The Pastor even though I rarely quote from scripture.
My church lives in the heart, in nature, in God's quiet whispers.
I do not claim any kind of righteous, fabulous glamour, nor do I take any money.
If you let people see your heart they will open up and listen.
They call me The Pastor
but I do not claim to be.
I only came by that name because after I roamed with Lions-
I was healed by Eternal Lamb.
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 1:30 AM UTC
Thuk-jey-che bedding for absorbing my tears
Thuk-jey-che to my books for helping me to cope
Thuk-jey-che mom for pretecting me
Thuk-jey-che councillor for reassuring me when I need it.
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 7:13 PM UTC
When Enrico’s Olde Horse
Was Too Old to work, he was
turned out by his master.
It is a quote from a book when
we were at primary school and
perhaps what first signalled that
I was a Socialist, humanist,
naturalist, poet, herbivore as
observed and stated at one of
my book launches, by James Kennedy
the Ex Mayor of Mallow and current
contestant as a councillor.
I would love to know from whence
the quote came from, especially
now that I am in the same position
as Enrico’s Horse, the metaphor for
Enrico being The Fine Gael Government.
It is a very important lesson that has
taken me a lifetime to learn.
Ps
Proposed book title about the abuse
of the elderly " The Knackers Yard ".
The author is currently learning
how to **** whilst walking.
May 7, 2019
May 7, 2019 at 8:10 AM UTC
THIS LIFE OF OURS - ALL IN OUR IVORY TOWERS,
IS ANYONE LISTENING TO OUR PRAYERS?
LET''S SAY, YES - THEY ARE; SO YOU SAY - SO WHY
IS NOTHING HAPPENING? IT IS HAPPENING -
IT HAPPENS EVERY DAY - THAT'S WHY WE PRAY;
I'M ONE DAY OLDER TODAY - STILL KEEPING ON,
PERHAPS WE SHOULD ASK SOMEONE ELSE,
THE SOLUTION TO OUR PROBLEMS - THE COUNCILLOR;
SHE ASKED ME: 'WHY DO YOU LOOK DOWN AND NOT
MEET ME EYE-TO-EYE,' I SAID THAT I WOULD TRY,
'ARE YOU HAPPY AT WORK?'
'NO, I AM NOT - PEOPLE IRK ME AND ANNOY ME,'
'ARE YOU IN A GOOD RELATIONSHIP?'
'NO, I AM NOT - NOTHING IS GOING RIGHT,'
'IS YOUR FAMILY OK,'
'NO, THEY ARE NOT - SEEMS TO BE A NEW PROBLEM EVERY DAY;'
'STOP - WHERE IS YOUR MINDSET, WHERE IS YOUR FOCUS,
LOOK WITHIN YOURSELF AND RIISE ABOVE THESE THINGS,
TELL YOURSELF YOU'RE HAPPY, GIVE YOURSELF LOVE,
WHETHER IT BE TRUE OR NOT IT'S ALL YOU'VE GOT
TO GIVE YOU STRENGTH AND TELL YOUR INNER SOUL;
WE'VE BEEN WHERE YOU ARE - YOU'RE YOUR OWN STAR,
THERE'S NO ONE LIKE YOU, NO ONE CAN TOUCH YOU,
YOU'LL BE AMAZED AT WHAT GOD'S GIVEN YOU - YOU NEVER KNEW - DON'T KEEP TELLING YOURSELF THAT THERE'S NOTHING I CAN DO - WRONG!! SO WRONG.
YOU TELL ME THAT 'I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE - I DO!
WHAT RIGHT HAVE I TO TELL YOU ANYTHING IF IT'S NOT TRUE?
GO ON, PROVE ME RIGHT - GET YOURSELF YOUR OWN LIFE.
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 5:01 AM UTC
My pen is
not Don Quixote.
It is a brave warrior
just like Don Quixote but
different in battle field.
This my pen is a
General in the
people's army.
It never retreats
or surrenders,
a workaholic.
My pen can be
pesky at times
but not unruly,
and not really a gentleman,
it is an erratic genius.
A minister of peace,
a councillor in crisis,
an advocate in justice,
a passionate lover,
prophetic in utterances,
intuitive and psychic in nature,
it reads and knows your mind.
My pen,
common but uncommon,
ordinary but extraordinary,
a two edged sword,
piercing the physical even
deeper and penetrating to the
dividing line of the breath of life
and the spirit and of joints
and marrows of the deepest
part of our nature,
exposing and sifting,
analysing and judging
the very thoughts
and purposes of the heart.
My pen is unique,
stealth in action,
a smooth talker,
loves to be held
and pampered.
It has no time to check time.
My pen,
this my pen is my friend.
A good company indeed.
A covert operator.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 8:19 AM UTC
You're hopeless.
Completely utterly lost.
This bizarre abyss of feelings is haunting,
Even your councillor has no idea what you're on about.
Despite this you charge head on,
Armour strong longsword drawn.
Then you shatter into pieces,
As anxiety strokes your face.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 7:13 PM UTC
My councillor told me I was pretty,
And that would be ok.
If those weren't the words,
She was paid to say.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 8:40 PM UTC