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howard brace Feb 2012
Inconspicuous, his presence noted only by the obscurity and the ever growing number of spent cigarette stubs that littered the ground.  It had been a long day and the rain, relentless in its tenacity had little intention of stopping, baleful clouds still  hung heavy, dominating the lateness of the afternoon sky, a rain laden skyline broken only by smoke filled chimney pots and the tangled snarl of corroded television aerials.

     The once busy street was fast emptying now, the lure of shop windows no longer enticed the casual browser as local traders closed their premises to the oncoming night, solitary lampposts curved hazily into the distance, casting little more than insipid pools mirrored in the gutter below, only the occasional stranger scurrying home on a bleak, rain swept afternoon, the hurried slap of wet leather soles on the pavement, the sightless umbrellas, the infrequent rumble of a half filled bus, hell-bent on its way to oblivion.

     In the near distance as the working day ended, a sudden emergence of factory workers told Beamish it was 5-o'clock, most would be hurrying home to a hot meal, while others, for a quick drink perhaps before making the same old sorry excuse... for Jack, the greasy spoon would be closing about now, denying him the comfort of a badly needed cuppa' and stale cheese sandwich.  A subtle legacy of lunchtime fish and chips still lingered in the air, Jack's stomach rumbled, there was little chance of a fish supper for Beamish tonight, it protested again... louder.

     From beneath the eaves of the building opposite several pigeons broke cover, startled by the rattle as a shopkeeper struggled to close the canvas awning above his shop window.  Narrowly missing Beamish they flew anxiously over the rooftops, memories of the blitz sprang to mind as Jack stepped smartly to one side, he stamped his feet... it dashed a little of the weather from his raincoat, just as the rain dashed a little of the pigeons' anxiety from the pavement... the day couldn't get much worse if it tried.  Shielding his face, Jack struck the Ronson one more time and cupped the freshly lit cigarette between his hands, it was the only source of heat to be had that day... and still it rained.

     'By Appointment to Certain Personages...' the letter heading rang out loudly... 'Jack Beamish ~ Private Investigator...' a throat choking mouthful by any stretch of the imagination, thought Jack and shot every vestige of credulity plummeting straight through the office window and amidst a fanfare of trumpet voluntary, nominate itself for a prodigious award in the New Year Honours list.   Having formally served in a professional capacity for a well known purveyor of pickled condiments, who  incidentally, brandished the same patronage emblazoned upon their extensive range of relish as the one Jack had more recently purloined from them... a paid commission no less, which by Jack's certain understanding had made him, albeit fleeting in nature, a professional consultant of said company... and consequently, if they could flaunt the auspicious emblem, then according to Jack's infallible logic, so could Jack.  

     The recently appropriated letterhead possessed certain distinction... in much the same way, Jack reasoned, that a blank piece of paper did not... and whereas correspondence bearing the heading 'By Appointment' may not exactly strike terror into the hearts of man... unlike a really strong pickled onion, it nevertheless made people think twice before playing him for the fool, which sadly, Jack had to concede, they still invariably did... and he would often catch them wagging an accusing finger or two in his direction with such platitudes as... "watch where you put your foot", they'd whisper, "that Jack's a right Shamus...", and when you'd misplaced your footing as many times as Jack had, then he reasoned, that by default the celebrated Shamus must have landed himself in more piles of indiscretion than he would readily care to admit, but that wouldn't be quite accurate either, in Jack's line of work it was the malefactor that actually dropped him in them more often than not.

     A cold shiver suddenly ran down his spine, another quickly followed as a spurt of icy water from a broken rain spout spattered across the back of his neck, he grimaced... Jack's expression spoke volumes as he took one final pull from his half soaked cigarette and flicked it, amid an eruption of sparks against the adjacent brick wall.  Sinking further into the shadow he tipped his fedora against the oncoming rain, then, digging both hands deep within his pockets, he huddled behind the upturned collar of his gabardine... watching.

     It was times such as these when Jack's mind would slip back, in much the same way you might slip back on a discarded banana peel, when a matter of some consequence, or in particular this case the pavement, would suddenly leap up from behind and give the back of Jack's head a resoundingly good slapping and tell him to "stop loafing around in office hours... or else", then drag him, albeit kicking and screaming back into the 20th century.  This intellectual assault and battery re-focused Jack's mind wonderfully as he whiled away the long weary hours until his next cigarette; cup of tea, or the last bus home, his capacity to endure such mind boggling tedium called for nothing less than sheer ******-mindedness and very little else... Beamish had long suspected that he possessed all the necessary qualifications.  

     Jack had come a long way since the early days, it had been a long haul but he'd finally arrived there in the end... and managed to pick up quite a few ***** looks along the way.  Whilst he was with the Police Constabulary... and it was only fair to stress the word 'with', as opposed to the word 'in'... although the more Jack considered, he had been 'with' the arresting officer, held 'in' the local Bridewell... detained at Her Majesties pleasure while assisting the boys in blue with their enquiries over a minor infringement of some local by-law that currently had quite slipped his mind at that moment.  Throughout this enforced leisure period he'd managed to read the entire abridged editions of Kilroy and other expansive works of graffiti exhibited in what passed locally as the next best thing to the Tate Gallery, whereupon it hadn't taken Jack very long to realise that it was always a good place to start if you wanted free breakfast, in fact the weeks bill of fare was tastefully displayed in vivid, polychromatic colour on the wall opposite... you just had to be au-fait with braille.
                            
     No matter how industrious Beamish laboured to rake the dirt there always appeared to be a dire shortage of gullible clients for Jack to squeeze, what would roughly translate as an honest crust out of, and although his financial retainer was highly competitive he understood that potential clients found it bewildering when grappling with the unplumbed depths of his monthly expense account, which would tend to fluctuate with the same unpredictability as the British weather, the rest of Jack's agenda revolved around a little shady moonlighting... in fact he'd happily consider anything to offset the remotest possibility of financial delinquency... short of extortion... which by the strangest twist was the very word prospective clients would cry while Jack beavered around the office with dust-pan and brush sweeping any concerns they may have had frantically under the carpet regarding all culpability of his extra-curricular monthly stipend... and they should remain assured at all times... as they dug deep and fished for their cheque books, and simply look upon it as kneading dough, which eerily enough was exactly the thick wedge of buttered granary that Jack had every intention of carving.

     Were there ever the slightest possibility that a day could be so utterly wretched, then today was that day, Jack felt a certain empathy as he merged with his surroundings... at one with nature as it were.  The rain, a timpani on the metal dustbin lids, by the side of which Beamish had taken up vigil, also taking up vigil and in search of a morsel was the stray mongrel, this was the third time now that he'd returned, the same apprehensive wag, yet still the same hopeful look of expectation in his eyes, a brief but friendly companion who paid more attention to Jack's left trouser leg than anything that could be had from nosing around the dustbins that day... some days you're the dog, scowled Beamish as he shook his trouser leg... and some days the lamppost, Jack's foot swung out playfully, keeping his new friend's incontinence at a safe distance, feigning indignance  the scruffy mongrel shook himself defiantly from nose to tail, a distinct odour of wet dog filled the air as an abundance of spent rainwater flew in all directions.   Pricking one ear he looked accusingly at Jack before turning and snuffled off, his nose resolutely to the pavement and diligently, picking out the few diluted scents still remaining, the poor little stalwart renewed its search for scraps, or making his way perhaps to some dry seclusion known only to itself.
  
     Two hours later and... SPLOSH, a puddle poured itself through the front door of the nearest Public House... SPLOSH, the puddle squelched over to the payphone... SPLOSH, then, fumbling for small change dialled and pressed button 'A'..., then button 'B'... then started all over again amid a flurry of precipitation... SPLASH.  The puddle floundered to the bar and ordered itself a drink, then ebbed back to the payphone again... the local taxi company doggedly refused to answer... finally, wallowing over to the window the puddle drifted up against a warm radiator amidst a cloud of humidity and came to rest... flotsam, cast upon the shore of contentment, the puddle sighed contentedly... the Landlady watched this anomaly... suspiciously.

     The puddle's finely tuned perception soon got to grips with the unhurried banter and muffled gossip drifting along the bar, having little else to loose, other than what could still be wrung from his clothing... Beamish, working on the principle that a little eavesdropping was his stock-in-trade engaged instinct into overdrive and casually rippled in their general direction...  They were clearly regulars by the way one of them belched in a well rehearsed, taken-a-back sort of way as Jack took stock of the situation and was now at some pains to ingratiate himself into their exclusive midst and attempt several friendly, yet relevant questions pertinent to his enquiries... all of which were skillfully deflected with more than friendly, yet totally irrelevant answers pertinent to theirs'... and would Jack care for a game of dominoes', they enquired... if so, would he be good enough to pay the refundable deposit, as by common consent it just so happened to be his turn...  Jack graciously declined this generous offer, as the obliging Landlady, just as graciously, cancelled the one shilling returnable deposit from the cash register, such was the flow of light conversation that evening... they didn't call him Lucky Jack for nothing... discouraged, Beamish turned back to the bar and reached for his glass... to which one of his recent companions, and yet again just as graciously, had taken the trouble to drink for him... the Landlady gave Jack a knowing look, Beamish returned the heartfelt sentiment and ordered one more pint.

     From the licenced premises opposite, a myriad of jostling customers plied through the door, business was picking up... the sudden influx of punters rapidly persuaded Beamish to retire from the bar and find a vacant table.  Sitting, he removed several discarded crisp packets from the centre of the table only to discover a freshly vacated ashtray below... by sleight of hand Jack's Ronson appeared... as he lit the cigarette the fragile smoke curled blue as it rose... influenced by subtle caprice, it joined others and formed a horizontal curtain dividing the room, a delicate, undulating layer held between two conflicting forces.

     The possibility of a free drink soon attracted the attention of a local bar fly, who, hovering in the near vicinity promptly landed in Jack's beer, Beamish declined this generous offer as being far too nutritious and with the corner of yesterdays beer mat, flipped the offending organism from the top of his glass, carefully inspecting his drink for debris as he did so.

     A sudden draught and clip of stiletto heels as the side door opened caused Beamish to turn as a double shadow slipped discreetly into the friendly Snug... a little adulterous intimacy on an otherwise cheerless evening.  The faceless man, concealed beneath a fedora and the upturned collar of his overcoat, the surreptitious lady friend, decked out in damp cony, cheap perfume and a surfeit of bling proclaimed a not too infrequent assignation, he'd seen it all before... the over attentive manner and the band of white, Sun-starved skin recently hidden behind a now absent wedding token, ordinarily it was the sort of assignment Jack didn't much care for... the discreet tail, the candid snapshot through half drawn curtains... and the all too familiar steak tartare... for the all too familiar black eye.

     To the untrained eye, the prospect of Jack's long anticipated supper was rapidly dwindling, when it suddenly focused with renewed vigour upon the contents of a pickled egg jar he'd observed earlier that evening, lurking on the back counter, his enthusiasm swiftly diminished however as the belching customer procured the final two specimens from the jar and proceeded to demolish them.  Who, Jack reflected, after being stood out in the rain all day, had egg all over his face now... and who, he reflected deeper, still had an empty stomach.  Disillusioned, Jack tipped back his glass and considered a further sortie with the taxicab company.

     "FIVE-BOB"!!! Jack screamed... you could have shredded the air with a cheese grater... hurtling into the kerb like a fairground attraction came flying past the chequered flag at a record breaking 99 in Jack's top 100 most not wanted list of things to do that day... and that the cabby should think himself fortunate they weren't both stretched flat on a marble slab, "exploding tyres" Jack spluttered, dribbling down his chin, were enough to give anyone a coronary... further broadsides of neurotic ambiance filled the cab as the driver, miffed at the prospect of missing snooker night out with the lads, considered charging extra for the additional space Jack's profanity was taking...

     And what part of 'Drive-Carefully', fumed Beamish, did the cabby simply not understand, that pavements were there to be bypassed, 'Nay Circumvented', preferably on the left... and not veered into, wildly on the front axle... an eerie premonition of 'jemais-vu' perched and ready to strike like a disembodied Jiminy Cricket on Jack's left shoulder, looking to stick its own two-penny worth in at the 'Standing-Room-Only' arrangements in the overcrowded cab... and at what further point, Jack shrieked, eyes leaping from his head as he lurched forward, shaking his fist through the sliding glass partition, had the cabbie failed to grasp the importance of the word 'Steering-Wheel...' someone wanted horse whipping, and as far as Beamish was concerned the sole contender was the cab driver...

     In having a somewhat sedate and unruffled disposition it had fallen to Beamish... as befalls all great leaders in times of adversity, to single handedly take the bull by the horns, so to speak and at great personal cost, alert the unwary passing motorist...  Waving his arms about like a man possessed whilst performing acrobatic evolutions in the centre of the road as the cabby changed the wheel came whizzing around the corner at a back breaking 98 on Jack's ever growing list... and why, Jack puzzled, why had they all lowered their side windows and gestured back at him in semaphore..?  Rallying to its aid, Jack's head and shoulders now joined his shaking fist through the sliding glass partition and into the cabby's face, "Who" Beamish screeched with renewed vigour ,"Who Was The Man", Jack wanted to know... *"a
Mike Fashé Feb 2013
What is being intelligent?
Is intelligent being a person who’s a prestige's individual that mastered every curricular course
And can solve every question with no hesitation
Or
A person with Down syndrome, Autism, Mental Retardation, etc…
That has a unique characteristic that makes them who they are and do things other people can’t?
“Some people see the glass half full. Others see it half empty.
I see a glass that's twice as big as it needs to be.”
― George Carlin
Lisa Lesetedi Jun 2018
From the womb we are taught to idealize the prospect of employment...and everything that comes after is done in attempt to attain a job
All the years of school...the pre-job jobs...the extra curricular activities that sparkle like a diamond among shattered glass or dreams on a CV
because employed is secure...
employed is safe...
employed is smart...
employed is successful
Your mom was hoping you would be an accountant like her but daddy thought you'd be a better scientist...so they made you do everything and by the time you realized that you didn't want to do any of those things...you had spread yourself so thin that the wind carried you in every direction and non of them was right...
That didn't really matter as long as you made enough to live in comfort...luxury is like the coin you find under your pillow in return for your fallen tooth...except instead of teeth it's your dreams that you have to trade in...
Because unemployed is unstable
Unemployed is without purpose
Unemployed is poor
Unemployed is a failure
So it doesn't really matter what you are...just as long as you're not unemployed.
DaSH the Hopeful Feb 2015
Nero: Deep cover another 187 on these hoes with my flows ya know I riddle like little Italy Punisher life Frank castle I slice ******* up like cattle I'm a lover but undercover like Eddie Griffin my brother I'll slice up ******* and leave they men in the trunk nervous with trauma twitches I'll cement up your shoes I'll use my pen to get the message to you headless hunters I'll be the soul edge and slice the heavens asunder I can feel it in my head and soul I'll reap with the flow and grow the flowers on the tombstone I'll make ya ***** moan and groan while I **** her in your stead while she gives me head I'm deciding who's the next to be blessed from the deliverer of death

DaSH: Kept the switchblade in a balled up fist
Probly ******
Off a lot of *******
But got longer lists
Like ******* who tasted blood soon after my ******* gotten licked
Threw up on my ****
And promptly dipped to get the shotgun grip
***** spit
Got me not wantin to work these long *** shifts
I know im sick
Smell my aroma tell its ebola when
I walk up in the room
Shut up talking and get a stronger whiff
Im the kid who was too demented to have gotten picked
For any extra curricular
Anyway I was busy plottin how to get to ya
Radio waves confuse em make em **** themselves
Silly me Billy Madison was happenin
And i was in the back with Chris Farley doin smack again
Rappers get smacked with used **** pads
A ****** *****
Is all I'll ever be in their eyes
But in mine,
All I see is bodies burning alive
Jay Mar 2013
I unlove you
I don't care if it's a neologism
It's my heart you imprisoned
And I unlove you for that

You were everything I wanted
Because I love everything you're not
I love it a lot, like a lot a lot
And I love what you don't look like
I've fallen head over heels for
Whose personality you don't resemble
I long for the way your kisses differ
How the *** isn't as curricular
But of course that's not enough

I want to want you
And "you" is an easy word to rhyme with
So that's what I won't do
See how easily I'm distracted away
From what you've got, what I can't say?
Because all I know is what you don't relay
How we share a not-so-bad day
I've got a question... if I may

I should love you for what you've got, right?
For all you are and not for who you're not, right?
If this holds true, we'll descend from the spotlight
'Cause I don't care about who you are, just who you're not quite
I unlove you with my whole heart
And I refuse to dig any further
I like to love everthing you're not about
And I pray that's okay with you
Lindsey Bartlett Dec 2011
“When I am with you,
I am fully with you.”
Les promesses
Loosely translated as lies.

I came to study
The human body.
Course concentration in
The opposite ***.

“I will love you
Even if its not in
A conventional way,”

An American in Paris
Working on a degree
In ****** anatomy.

An American in Paris
Top of her class
In infidelity.

Meet me at the hotel
Teacher
For an afternoon of
Extra curricular activity.

To succeed like you
Is my goal.
Under my sheets
under my soul.
Jackie Mead Mar 2018
World book day 2018
All the children in fancy dress
Mums and Dads competing to be the best
Imagination running wild some of the themes are they really for the child?
Gruffalos, tortoises, turtles and bears
George's Marvellous Medicine, BFG and Hares
Darth Vader makes a show, Harry Potter, Princesses too
How much paper, material and glue?
How much time for the parent to make?
There's reading homework, maths too, extra curricular clubs, trips to the zoo
Then there's evening meal and bathtime, all of this before 7oclock
Just a few minutes for the parent to take stock
Before cutting, crimping, glueing around the clock
But on the morning all is worthwhile when photos begin to show
Of smiling children in their suits and parents all aglow
Beaming with pride in their eyes as they walk their little Minchpin to the gate not even one second late

Happy World Book Day
World book day today all the parents in work go mad for dressing their children up as characters from a book, it's chaotic fun

Little did i know that the snow would come and this would be cancelled, all schools closed, so this will most probably happen next week now, at least all the preparation is done though :)
Blue skies Oct 2018
We are told from an early age
Never settle for anything less than the best
An idealistic proverb I was taught to live by
And I tried
Well behaved
Top grades
New friends, no boyfriends
Extra-curricular dance and sports
Perfect reports
Best university and the coveted job
I’m where I want to be

But there’s a look of pity
And your words blurt out
Have you thought about settling down?
Like my entire life has just been the trailer to my movie marriage
Like I hadn’t noticed the buzz of engagements and weddings
Like I’m incomplete and you think you’ve just given me the answer

Please stop
I’m not a box
So don’t try and tick me
I’m a rocket about to launch
So put on your glasses
For there’s going to be a lot of dust
Duke Thompson May 2015
The solution to 21st century decline is Apparently increased competition
Higher grades, better schools, more Degrees, extra curricular activities, Volunteering, unpaid internships

Until you can't keep up anymore and the Rat race falls apart, you're facing mounting Student debt, employers say you are Simultaneously under and overqualified, You've developed mental illness from years Of incessant perfectionism and no one Gives a **** anymore, not even you
Rob Rutledge Jun 2014
Spontaneous yet flexible
Confident and malleable.
Able to go with the times
And go with the flow,
Finger on the pulse
Presentations to show.
Laser pointers and
Laser printers
Pressed for time.
Nothings here
But what here's mine.

Climb over colleagues
Through Ivy leagues
And Redbrick universities.
Shadowed by a letter.
A,
B,
C,
D?

"And extra-curricular activities?"
"Literature?"
"Theatre?"
"Ah...well......I see........."

"......Well....there is an opening.......
.....Not great hours I'm afraid.....
.....But the pay is competitive...............
...Beyond the market rate......."

An inward sigh and a signature.
Uniforms and moral aperture.
We do what "must be done"
And whisper other soft lies
While we hide from the Sun.
Viola Aug 2015
Our educational system is not serving our disadvantaged communities.

Public schools are funded by their respective communities' income because the taxpayers are responsible for helping provide money for schools.

This means that areas with low income are receiving less funding.

Without this funding, the schools are unable to hire more educators resulting in larger class sizes. The educators are also left with less funding for educational resources such as text books and supplemental materials. Extra curricular activities get cut completely.

These schools in disenfranchised low income communities are performing worse across the board and because of this their funding is being cut drastically.

We need educatiomal reform.
Dacia B Jul 2015
CV?
There comes a time in everyone’s life, normally when you are looking to change things, that you are forced to face up to your CV.
The polished version of your education and work history that doesn’t say apathetic waitress or universally majorly clueless.
Short dates and places you would rather forget, because what can you really accomplish in 21 years?
A patchwork middle-class family and a muddled youth and disdain for high-school left me without the series of hot-winded, rattling extra-curricular. I wonder if I should put my suicide attempt of two mental breakdowns on this thing. Or maybe the abuse I got from my father.
No, that translates to empty job titles and a lack or accolades.
Perhaps my travel and brief flings with European cities I fell madly in love with yet dizzied in the concrete container.
What about being a hopeless romantic and being completely terrified of love?
No, perhaps not.
Ability to make puns? Or little children smile? Or memories entire poems? Cheer up depressed friends? Zany sense of humour? Ability to swear in Russian? Freestyle rap? Cook a meal in 10 minutes?
No

The start platform for a life with no direction or destination unknown?
Well, whatever sounds better…
An impression of me. In black ink and paper.
Stupid CVs
julissa garcia Jun 2014
School

It starts at a young age
when you first start going you have fun
you like to learn new things
you meet friends
everything is easy
you can pass a test without studying
you actually want to go to school
you want to do your homework
it's fun
but then after your first few years
you get slammed in the face
you are expected to just know things after being told them once
you are expected to remember everything
after all
it will be on the test
the one which you are told to study for
but you have no idea how to actually study
you still enjoy seeing your friends and going to school
but soon enough that will change
you are expected to be there everyday
god forbid you miss one day
if you miss one day
you'll be behind everyone else
you start getting hours of homework from every class you have
having tests everyday
you'll be expected to be able to learn at the same pace as everyone else
and if you don't
well you're *******
eventually you will despise going to school
dread it
you'd rather be in the hospital
or dying
you are ridiculed if you get lower than100%
on top of everything
if you don't do extra curricular activities
then you're not a balanced student
if you can't handle eight hours of homework and two or more hours of a sport
then how are you supposed to handle the real world?
so you try to 'balance' your life
oh and if you can't handle all of that and a social life
you're a geek
so you grit your teeth and down a few cups of coffee and hope your hands don't shake too much
after all you have to write that thousand word essay tonight
along with four pages of calculus
and science
and a foreign language
and what ever else
if you're lucky you'll make it through every thing
but if you're like me
you'll be so stressed out by all of it
you physically can't do it
it's not that you don't want to do it
but you'll just stare at it
like a foreign object
you're mind blanks out
you start to panic
all of sudden you have no ******* idea what you're doing
you're up until it's time to get up
but you've only done one assignment
you feel stupid
you're a failure in your mind
you start to fall behind
your teachers pull you outside the class
they ask you why you aren't doing as well as you were before
you want to tell them
you're a suicidal mess
you can't look at your homework with out having a panic attack
but you can't
so you just simply tell them
you don't know
and they just shake their head
STLR Nov 2016
This is not for the Internet
Nor for the people with small minds & intellect

I'm gonna **** this ****
Make you feel like you hearing it

Reversing the hearse awaking spirits
Flash backs of my past life
death & life in the same vision

I am well spoken, I don't have limits

Intellectuals gather round

Abusive my words,
I use them to forge a sound
Spiritually I am bound
Lyrically I embrace
I'm an outer being
sending beckons from outer space
I cascade vivid arrays

I stay a stray
no need for distractions, for actions are soon to decay, we will all fade away
If time is of your concern your mental is in the fray

Monumental are my credentials
Magnified by 1 millions typed characters
Nouns, similes, Metaphorical Caricatures

all illustrated with my thoughts so that my imagination burns

verbal fortification
this is physical & mental
ABC Fornication
i penetrate with pen & pencil

ink splashed all the way back to the past
where i pick up the pieces & write my inner thesis alas!!

Student mighty morphed to teacher in class

Letters shaped the size of titans
they clash

I'm on a different level
mediocrity passed

Weegie board turned to Beat Machine
I distorted the devils laugh

I can finally say, THIS IS MINE, i have this ****!!!

Verbal Aerial pathogens...infected cross this digital earth
cross blogs, external links an other virtual passages

Execution, is an illusion if you don't know how to handle it
I've slanted words like Asian eyes which are well applied
like store discounts or letters of acronyms

Acrobatic an Systematic Literature formed out of pure passion is
quite a feat, like defeating an
enemy or your top nemesis

Extra curricular activities
divide minds mentally

I blaze cross alliterations
An dash cross similes
Actions are of an activist
Profitable productivity

I've reached a pinnacle
Riddles do damage
like swinging outer extremities

word play causes earth quakes & shatters ribs
of my enemies

Potent Poetic Vertices's Vanquish
Villains Vicinities

Humanitarian Hustler
puncturing profitability
narcissus necromancer negotiating
aeronautical abilities

methodical mysteries
motivate yet are menacing

lateral lyricist lunging letters linguistically

dedicated design distorted with no dependencies

propelling phonics plummeting
phrases physically

catapulted curriculum,
concussions caused critically

infatuated infections infuse
with my inks incredibly

Enough words to make structures
Nouns create sound stability

Mr. Poet Freak Forever and on to
Ink-finity
s Jul 2016
I grew up in a small town where normal was stupid and above average was normal. Girls wore their 8 extra curricular activities and 4.0 GPA draped around their necks with pride. Along with the boy who ****** them last night. But oh at church on Sunday they are still going to be virgins. Maybe I'm rambling. Maybe I have to rethink every word I say because, they helped destroy me. They helped me pick apart my body. Pick apart my brain. Maybe their designer clothes were okay. But the way they would shove others off their golden pedestals with a simple glance is what ****** me off. We weren't special like them. We didn't know the ins and outs. We didn't get the football players begging at our feet. We were gifted knifes in our backs that would leave traces of poison for years. Careful, word travels fast. We were expected to be like them.
I am so bitter.
But it's just because I grew up in a small town where normal was stupid and above average was normal.
I just am venting tonight.
Gloria Burns Feb 2016
Do all high schoolers go home
And cry themselves to sleep
Before realizing
That they still have homework

Is it normal
To do more homework, extra curricular
    activities, and clubs
Then have a social life
And care for the people you love

Is it ok
To develop higher anxiety levels
Because your expectations are set too high
And you have to be in the top 10% at least

Is it all right
To have a fake smile, and a fake laugh
Because you don't want people to know how
     hurt you are
Or how tired and achy your body is

And I bet it's fine
To not have any breaks
Unless you procrastinate that huge project
     worth 40% of your grade
Or the mountains of homework inscripted in
     your soul

And I guess it perfectly ordinary
To not feel like you can go to anyone
Because after saying it's ok and that they will
     always be there for you
They will explain how much more they want
     out of you

Or am I the exception
The exception to the happy, normal life
Where everyone gets sleep and is joyful
Where people have time and friends instead
     of homework and stress

I'm so tired of this exception to the good life
I'm so tired
Mystic Ink Plus Mar 2018
Tuition fee: X
Development fee: Y
Security fee: Z

Extra-curricular fee,
probably : V
Fee to **** time,
mandatorily: W

Cost of being good,
“ZERO”, I evaluate.

Here,
We pay a handsome waste,
X, Y, Z, V, W
to be nothing.

With a hope,
to be something.
Genre: Beyond Poetry
Theme: Education becoming costlier
Julie Boggs Mar 2014
Let me just sit right down
and figure it all out.
I mean, just flat out stop
all the crap,
all the b.s.
and extra curricular activity
that engulfs the whole of me
just stop, stop, stop.

Shhhhh....
It's quiet now
and my mind is at rest
little trickles
of revelation
come sneaking in
and suddenly
this brilliant light
of understanding shines through
and nothing else matters
except for this
huge beacon
of knowing.

I get it now.
There is a purpose.
There is a plan.
There is a means
to make me aware
that I most certainly
do belong here--
that no matter how LOST
and alone I might feel
always there is this LIGHT
shining through
to guide and direct
and help me see
just what so often
seems to elude, to escape me.

I get it now.
It's just an adventure
a challenge to get through--
this life we're living
We're all here
just trying to understand
to comprehend
when all along
all we've ever needed to do
is to just STOP
and just BE.
Re: Thank You to unknown
   tom, ****, harry, tam, dame,
   or dana from the MHS Class of 77,
   though this alum
experiences public education
   within lower providence jurisdiction

as a ***
er - minimally partaking advantage
   of extra-curricular,
   collegiate, inter-mural,
   et cetera opportunities,

   no not even a figurative crum
well nigh convey an impression of being dumb
bull door, deaf, and blind (with out faith no more),

   nor passing love notes from
some anonymous girl, who
   (after leaving a teasing message
   informed asper getting a smart haircut

   in ninth grade civics class
   taught by Missus Comly
   (do not quote me on my
   power fully pointed excel lent spelling,
   telling nothing, when out of desperation
   I experience primal yelling)
this singular potential fledgling flirtation,

   the extent from student,
   who appeared morose and rather glum
exposing such vulnerability to be hum
millie hated, and bullied relentlessly,

   whereat i wish to be a little boy
   comforted by me mum
since that option out of the question,
   thus aye didst never meet Miss Mot Toe
   (e plumbs e num), perhaps cuz eye **** numb

body, mind and spirit triage as if inebriated by ***
imagining the fighting spirit within me to thumb
or rather "flip the bird" to those,
   this then anxiety prone

   metaphorically rolling stone
whose metaphorical diet of worms also included
   eating picked over sun bleached
   un beak coming road **** crow - how yum

me does that seem, but gnome hatter
   how grossly said foul dish
   spurred via carrion (an analogy
   representing verbal taunting

   best left for hitch cocked birds) didst not appeal
not in the least did i give nasty brutes a "what for",
twas fear of getting creamed, fricasseed, irradiated...

   sans to stand proud and tall
   (all five and a half feet, but blunted maximum height
   topped off just shy of seventy inches -
   in reference to yours truly) against bullies

to this very day such emotional repercussions congeal
asper anxiety, obsessive compulsive disorder, panic...,
   which physiological symptoms served psyche not to feel
and only of late (particularly with daily intake of about
   a half doe zen pharmacological prescription medications

   do check and induce schizoid personality disorder
   (the diagnosis encompassing,
   the gamut mental health issues) to heel
akin to a well trained service dog, which fractured

   psychological state i.e. garrison to pitch and toss
   upon the precarious tipping point i.e.
   surpassing the tipping point,
   where thy body electric doth keel,

which precarious state finds me socially awkward,
   and off kilter, and maybe this chap
   ought to take a page
   from professional athletes playbook,
   and take a knee qua to kneel

hence this improvisational explanation
   why yours truly felt discombobulated
   to attend the recently held reunion,
   now aye wanna axe something serious, and fur real,

which essentially constitutes whether
   a current list of 1977 students,
   who received their high school diploma
   could be sent to me, whereby at least one alumni
   could buffer end this contemplative, intuitive,
   and pence eave bowl dish guttersnipe wannabe with zeal.

hie haint gonna hold ma breath,
   neither let loose lips help miss ink moll itty bitty sinker agog
   nor wait fir any religious chief such as allah
boot nothing ventured...blah...blah...blog...blog...

adieu - - matthew scott harris
Cardboard-Jones Jul 2019
I see that troubled water,
I just cannot be bothered.
I know it looks bad, I know that it looks bad.
Looking for greener times,
Clearing my foggy mind.
I get the tool bag, I’m getting my tool bag.
Distances seems like a lot.
When you’re travelling and everybody just forgot.
It’s been so long since I transitioned into this,
But they only see the old me, they reminisce.
Communication without comprehension,
Though good intentions, is just lack of info retention,
I swear.
I build them up, and they just burn them down.
Then have the audacity to ask why I’m never around.
“Oh, hey, how are you?
You look so familiar.”
School them once, school them twice,
I’m on a different curricular.
I don’t have the time to keep repeating lessons
When all they seem to give me is false confessions.
With change on my mind, the past on my nerves,
I’m building bridges to get to something that I deserve.



Sleepy,
It’s 11:30, why you come to see me?
Ain’t seen you for months, girl, now you wanna see me?
Standing on my porch now, saying “You complete me.”
With the low cut tank top, thinking than intrigues me.
Bite your bottom lip, ooh, you thought this would be easy.
Thought that I’d forget just how bad you treat me?
I know all your tricks, yeah, that ****’s beneath me.
You used to be a playlist that I could put on repeat.
All your cute words, they’re just trying to deceive me.
But that bridge is gone now, why don’t you believe me?
Re: Thank You to unknown
   tom, ****, harry, tam, dame,
   or dana from the MHS Class of 77,
   though this alum
experiences public education
   within lower providence jurisdiction

as a ***
er - minimally partaking advantage
   of extra-curricular,
   collegiate, inter-mural,
   et cetera opportunities,

   no not even a figurative crum
well nigh convey an impression of being dumb
bull door, deaf, and blind (with out faith no more),

   nor passing love notes from
some anonymous girl, who
   (after leaving a teasing message
   informed asper getting a smart haircut

   in ninth grade civics class
   taught by Missus Comly
   (do not quote me on my
   power fully pointed excel lent spelling,
   telling nothing, when out of desperation
   I experience primal yelling)
this singular potential fledgling flirtation,

   the extent from student,
   who appeared morose and rather glum
exposing such vulnerability to be hum
millie hated, and bullied relentlessly,

   whereat i wish to be a little boy
   comforted by me mum
since that option out of the question,
   thus aye didst never meet Miss Mot Toe
   (e plumbs e num), perhaps cuz eye **** numb

body, mind and spirit triage as if inebriated by ***
imagining the fighting spirit within me to thumb
or rather "flip the bird" to those,
   this then anxiety prone

   metaphorically rolling stone
whose metaphorical diet of worms also included
   eating picked over sun bleached
   un beak coming road **** crow - how yum

me does that seem, but gnome hatter
   how grossly said foul dish
   spurred via carrion (an analogy
   representing verbal taunting

   best left for hitch cocked birds) didst not appeal
not in the least did i give nasty brutes a "what for",
twas fear of getting creamed, fricasseed, irradiated...

   sans to stand proud and tall
   (all five and a half feet, but blunted maximum height
   topped off just shy of seventy inches -
   in reference to yours truly) against bullies

to this very day such emotional repercussions congeal
asper anxiety, obsessive compulsive disorder, panic...,
   which physiological symptoms served psyche not to feel
and only of late (particularly with daily intake of about
   a half doe zen pharmacological prescription medications

   do check and induce schizoid personality disorder
   (the diagnosis encompassing,
   the gamut mental health issues) to heel
akin to a well trained service dog, which fractured

   psychological state i.e. garrison to pitch and toss
   upon the precarious tipping point i.e.
   surpassing the tipping point,
   where thy body electric doth keel,

which precarious state finds me socially awkward,
   and off kilter, and maybe this chap
   ought to take a page
   from professional athletes playbook,
   and take a knee qua to kneel

hence this improvisational explanation
   why yours truly felt discombobulated
   to attend the recently held reunion,
   now aye wanna axe something serious, and fur real,

which essentially constitutes whether
   a current list of 1977 students,
   who received their high school diploma
   could be sent to me, whereby at least one alumni
   could buffer end this contemplative, intuitive,
   and pence eave guttersnipe wannabe with zeal.

hie haint gonna hold ma breath,
   nor wait fir any religious chief such as allah
boot nothing ventured...blah...blah...blog...blog...

adieu - - matthew scott harris
Love, that brought me into this world
Love, that took me into its arms to get cuddled
Love, that adored and celebrated me
Love, that understood and let me be
Love, that was boundless somehow
To that love, I bow
Love is everything, I believe
For having lost one, I now grieve

From showing interest in my extra curricular
To teaching me to ride a scooter
From being my tutor
To finding me a suitor
From fixing marital problems one after the other
To playing my children’s second mother
Every act of love
Just went far and above

For the unshakable support
For being a friend of sort
For the invaluable guidance
Which often left me in awestruck silence
For all this, to God I pray
A chance to repay
In another lifetime ,
Only this time...
The roles reversed
To showcase my love at best!
Dedicated to my dad...
S Sharma Dec 2020
Some people were humiliating a man ,
because he was bald and so they thought they can.
That was a bully ,
Which forced that man to walk wearing a hoodie

Some people were laughing at a girl,
As she was short ,she was not a part of the drill.
That was a bully,
Which forced her to uncomfortablely walk in footwear which were hilly.

Some people were teasing a boy,
As he was fat , and looked like a giant stuff toy.
That was a bully,
Which forced him to eat meals which doesn't satisfy his appetite completely.

Some people were throwing mocking comments on a woman,
As she was not economically stable and cannot afford things they can.
That was a bully,
Which forced her to increase her working hours and made her exhausted fully.

some people were ignoring a student,
as he didn't scored good marks in a test,
That was a bully ,
Which forced him to leave his extra curricular completely

Bullies are faced by almost all of us ,
Yeah those people who laugh at our flaws,
Being unknown that not just us they too have many flaws ,
But they are always busy in humiliating us

They might have never thought it in their life,
That the person they are bullying might have medical issues and can't afford a normal life.
And so life is already difficult for them.
As they already know what's imperfect in them .

But isn't it bad to make life more difficult for someone
who is already suffering ,
And can't even express themselves to anyone.
Why some people are so shallow?

Why they judge others on the basis of looks,intelligence and economy?
Why there behavior is different for people who are least imperfect?
Why they don't know a simple thing that
Not everything pretty sparkles and shines?
Bullies are faced by almost all of us and its upon us either we can take those bullies as challenges and work hard to prove them wrong or we can cry saying that we are not perfect.
Julia Supernault Dec 2021
Do you think it’s quite possible to be addicted to someone?

We talk about addictions surrounding alcohol, cigarettes and other extra curricular’s but

I could go months without a drop of alcohol but I can’t seem to go twenty four hours without a message from him

I don’t know the best course to take here, is there such thing as cold turkey from someone so addicting?

I feel the effects of the addiction to him coming on strong, I can feel in my heart that he doesn’t make me happy anymore but for some reason, I can’t let him go and it frustrates me to no end.
Nought Aug 2021
Somehow the dust never scattered when I exhaled onto the photograph. It was as though of age refused to detach itself from your and my smiling faces, frozen in a 24th of a second. It wasn’t a great photo, by any half-baked photographer’s standard. But if was a photo of you, the only I had. The only I could find where your figure had been aged into nothing more than a white silhouette.
There were no letters you’d written my mother, there were no books whose front page had your name written into a corner. There probably wasn’t even a coin which you’d touched left in this house. It was as though you’d never even existed. At least, the lack of objects holding any connection to you spoke that story. But the words my mother uttered softly to me after you disappeared, the stories which hovered over the coffee table on April afternoons, the recounts which filled the space on your hollow birthdays…they sung the soft tune of your existence.
My mother told me of how you’d always been so successful, how you’d worked so hard in your business, kept us financially stable in the unpredictable seas of time. In my eyes, you were what people sometimes call perfect. The way my mother spoke of you, the way her words would spread through my mind and stain my memory made every drop of blood in my body wish I could match up to you.
Your dedication, perseverance, diligence. You embodied everything I wanted to be. I’d work harder. At school, extra-curricular activities, in the future my work. I’d work hard, just like you had.
Nighttime became sleepless, with every part of my logical side screaming to sleep, but the fire of wanting to live up to you burned though it like paper. Afternoons grew out of being time to spend outside with peers, into the hours I’d spend alone in the piano room, the same tunes filling my head on repeat. School time had me flying ahead of the curriculum, and while others chattered and enjoyed idle conversation with their desk mates, my goal was not to waste time. This was to be like you. Anything to be like you.
Time morphed from a tool into a hinderance, my human limitations the bane of my existence. Why can’t I just be like you?
I wish I could remember you from the year preceding your vanishing. It’s as though you’d been completely erased from my memory, and maybe you had. I wish I could’ve asked you what I could’ve done to be like you. To be better. The idea of searching you up had flown in and out of my mind throughout my life, though every time it did the idea left my mind faster than the last.
But today those fears of defeat seem lifted. Or maybe they’ve completely crushed me. Either way, my fingers trace the edge of my laptop, my hand hovering over the keyboard.
I type in your name.
My screen lights up and a mixture of confusion, fear and disregard of what i see surge though me, twisted into a rope with stops my blood flow. I double-check the spelling. Its right. I reload the page. Command R. Command R. Command R. The same articles flash across the screen.
This is wrong.
It has to be wrong.
The stories.
The photograph.
All of it.
it’s not you. This is not you. This has to be someone with the same name. You’re not this.
My father is not a criminal.
Right?
Miosis overtakes my pupils and my expression falls far short of brushing its fingertips against the edge of the intensity of tangled emotions coiling inside me. This can’t be right. My mother - she wouldn’t lie to me right? And the photograph! That proves you weren’t a bad person right? I click onto one of the articles. Your name fills the header of the webpage. My eyes instinctively read the subtitle. Found guilty of assault and attempted ******. I laugh, the kind of laugh that fills the room when you’re sure of something’s inaccuracy or irrelevancy. But I know it’s empty.
This doesn’t make any sense. But it has to. The images of the person staring through the screen with the look of burning ice bare unsettling resemblance to the man in the dust-coated photograph. This is you.
My twisted and knotted mix of burning shock, confusion and rage cools too fast, forcing it into a brittle state. the smile I wear feels cold on my face, and hollow. It kind of makes sense. At least, it explains the previously questionable, yet still unquestioned, disappearance of you from us only weeks following your disappearance. And why the few memories I have of my third year consisted mainly of yelling and aggressive shadows in the living room on the nights I awoke to find a glass of water. And why somehow all of the family photos we’d stored carefully away had aged, and somehow only on the places you’d been.
But…still.
It doesn’t explain the words spoken of you so delicately one would mistake them for the glassy surface of undisturbed water in the mornings where the world was still asleep…ah. My eyes catch a string of words which have been italicized.
‘I’m still terrified of speaking ill of him. I know he’s being kept far, far away from us, but not a single negative word of him can be heard in my house, in fear of what could happen to us. I know it’s paranoid, but I suppose it also stops my child from having to live in fear of their father…”
A quote from my mother.
Thoughts flood my mind, overflowing my skull so my brain cant think. Memories of the air in the house tasting bitter, stained with the scent of alcohol. Of how whenever I begged my parents to let my friends stay over for the night, dead refusal blew the thought aside. And of how you carried me home when I fell. Of how you taught me addition.
Which were you, really?
Were you the person who harmed others mercilessly, trying to pluck their life from them as though it were a leaf from a tree. Or the person who told me stories before I fell asleep? Or were they both parts of you, coexisting within you, just waiting for the point where one shattered the other into a million glittering shards.
idk where to keep this so :/ it can go here

— The End —