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Lizzie Oct 2018
Happiness is the brightest blue in the shape of you,
making me feel brand new.
I'm falling hard with no regards for my heart,
my walls started to crumble from the start.
There are still things i haven't said,
so many thoughts and memories inside my head;
I want you to know, but i don't know how
to open up like that
It's not something i've done in the past.
But i want to make us last.
I know i don't disclose how much you mean to me,
And it's killing me.
I wish i could put into words how
you are undeniably worth more.
More than the moon and the stars and all the galaxies
I truly believe i could love you for a long time,
for just one more rhyme?
Kevin J Taylor Jun 2017
A poet's breast within me beats
Beats heart and something I call soul that leaps
Charges, races, racing, finds its feet
Drags me, joyful, joy-filled, from my seat!

Elevating common prose
For pleasures sake, each poet knows,
Gains by use of tools as those
He would at length I’m sure disclose

If payment were perhaps an ear
Just for a moment lent to hear
Keenly offered verse— or beer,
Loved by poets too, I fear.

Most often those who are unwise
Negate the poet’s enterprise
Out of their need to criticize
(Perhaps within their misery lies)

Quite certain they must find a fault
Regardless of the somersaults
Some poets do to try and halt
Those who, in the name of help, assault.

Unless you’ve written words as these—  
Verses made and meant to please
With just a little work to tease
Xenia* coaxed from a’s and z’s

Your day lacks all that razzmatazz—as
Zest for verse—and all that jazz.

*Xenia—gifts given to a guest or stranger.
This is an Abecedarian. First letter of each line follows the alphabet. Fun to do.

Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
It's such a quaint notice to understand
The very point on why Friendships are made
And you in Cheer, though Special beforehand
Was just a Concern I had to obey
This thrice on Crop's Best; And opened before
Such that Stubborn Mules fail to socialise
They only eat grass - aloof and demure
And a Good Partner most unqualified
We shared the News once. That a Good Exchange
Of Certain Facts the Telly won't disclose
How frustrating when we need a wide range
And once we did just adds to our Remorse.
Freakish Things they are, Roaches in the Brain
Unless we sweep this, infest they remain.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
nui Jul 2018
Today or should I say what was left of yesterday, the most important time during the day when the moon is in a modestly transient display, I would consider taking my life. It is early evening, I couldn’t hold onto what I thought I could live for, giving into intolerance too easily, was like life for me was cracking in two and I was unable to cause cohesion for the diverging halves. only the effect remains unhinged and hidden inside me, without notice I go on missing from society. I’ve greatly deteriorated over the past few months which felt to me like decades in a room resembling winter. I often open the window only to my dismay that the air out is uncomfortably thick and moist, enough to suffocate my concentration for concern to what lies around instead I retract into this niche I resent completely spectating this limited view found underneath monochromatic inverted shades, for something that might not be much greater than I had wished it to be, I let these ideals of mine run wild in an attempt to let them be real momentarily, to burn out eventually unseen. Nothing should be able to live in such a way, I’m as stagnant as the trees that lie ahead near the streets. They witness every passerby freely sauntering trails laid out for the day, perhaps they, these beings, take it for granted not giving much attention to anything else besides the very goal that keeps them afloat and moving toward for execution to whatever it is they have their minds eye simply on. I’ve known all too well that it is pointless to do the same, I can’t squander what I have right in front of me over a simple goal, although I might not live in life’s given moments pleading for the very attention I sometimes don’t give in to, nothing ever goes unnoticed, these impressions are all that I could ever ask for, the smallest of gifts for me to cherish. Anyways I was only wandering my sight around outside looking for a movement I could possibly run to for help, giving my ears away for barber’s melody to play out loud. Nothing more showed up, only a bitter heat wave, the trees left unshaken from vacant winds. Washing over me was the penetrative structure I felt his sorrowful life flash ahead of me wondering how misunderstood he must’ve felt in such a time where everything was unrightfully wasted from a society that never knew how normalized repression began to feel, so they went about it by going along with the feel other than freely being expressive about internal conflicting issues. Maybe to one or none at all. He deserved better as did all the others. Maybe I’m wrong and only being reflective of myself. For what reason I don’t know. I was telling myself on the car ride somewhere else that I won’t disclose, for it doesn’t matter. I imagined everything I was to do, or should I say that I was accepting of what was to come next reciting in my head that all the dreaming and envisioning I had done up to this point was my life possibly lived, the love I couldn’t help to resist myself from attaining, the opportunity to save the world from collision from and through a great work that could possibly impregnate every sensible mind with a broad spectrum of what an extra day of the week might feel like, more time to spend freely from life’s never ending demand of what is to be expected by and from each and every one of you. I daydreamed of everything I missed during my lifetime so far, I should’ve traveled but didn’t, I’m not filled with fear but that of insecurity always wins the day. I slipped on by to memories that never had the chance to be made, only the threading lies there on a timeless lot gravitating toward evaporation. I left no more hope for myself because I’ve chosen to give it to the others who could actually implement change, those of whom I know I can entrust the life that I wasn’t living to. I made a choice, to disperse this existing body from and to a place where time is stilted upon my departure outside the fields wherever that may be, music guiding me out of the overriding blur beyond the wilt— my memory subsided inside this symphony somewhere that is made up of very early mornings and the light that follows afterward, kindly implying, that maybe, they never existed. I’m without anymore words, Thank you
I’ve decided to lay this one out exactly how I intended it to look; in its most free format, untouched from editing. maybe to expose the half crumbled city that lies in the way.  

I have this thing to get carried away into needless thoughts. 4 am is the time when self-reflecting occurs.

It goes deeper than all this, this is but a simple opening to more uncovered doors.

0202, is when I will be leaving
Susanna Mar 2018
Poems don't have to rhyme.
What a way to spend your time,
Constrained within a paradigm.
But, admittedly when they do,
They are quite sublime,
Giving each word a reverberating chime.

Writer's block
Is like a rock,
A door that's locked,
A brain out of stock.

The mind is a forest
Still with places where no one goes
It doesn't disclose the secrets no one knows

There is no line between poetry and prose.
Because poems don't have to rhyme.
but i made this one rhyme anyway
MeanAileen Mar 2017
I truly do wish
I could be more like you,
to live life without regret.
Won't you teach me
how to do as you do?
I promise to never forget...
First, clarify
just how to fake love
so others see it as real.
Then drain my soul
until it's void of
any feelings it may feel.
Instruct my heart
how not to break,
and like yours, turn to stone.
I'd never know loss
with nothing at stake;
I'd never be hurting alone.
Now demonstrate how
to walk out and leave
without ever saying goodbye.
Do disclose how
you so easily deceive...
teach me just how to lie.
Train my eyes
to shed no more tears;
reveal where pain should hide.
Then teach me how
to confine my fears,
keeping them all locked inside.
I must know how
to ignore the lust
found in a passionate kiss.
Then un-teach my mind
the meaning of trust
so I'll never again feel like this!
Now explain how
I can forget our love,
make me believe it wasn't true.....
And then when I master
all the above,
then, I will be more like you.
This is an old one, but I've always been fond of it....
JaegukLee Oct 2019
Inside the building
when a fire alarm knocks on our earlobes,
many descend their pathways to remaining pieces of life -
But some disclose past secrets inside the drawers

When the eyes of sin and guilt meet,
the growling guilt of a discloser
will chase after the two-eyed witness,
neglecting the past of a camaraderie

The disclosure of an enclosure that
leads to
the enclosure of a disclosure -
Isn’t this an infinite cycle of mess?

Until the emergency stairs become rustic
and the orange-gleaming light comes nearby,
we will wait
to see the sunshine as our long-lasting companion
Tommy Randell Aug 2017
I want to eat again at my Mother's table,
Be lost in those unending fables.
Difficult though to talk about the Man in the room
That shadow standing upright in the gloom -

There are many endings to a line,
First choose the moment, then the time.

Why go there, why find the past at all?
Convince me this present needs a re-install -
Do you say perhaps this is how things are meant to be,
That victims after all never write their history?

There are are many endings to a line,
Our memories were never made as shrines -

I will not live in an undiscovered past,
Time has loopholes that unwind at last,
That only those who lived it may observe
An eloquence of choices no-one heard -

The measured man has all his life complete
When shadows stand at last upright in the light?

I want to heal this broken picture book,
What really came of all the hurt I took,
What happened to make me write this poem,
How only the Truth makes sense of where I'm going -

I will disclose the brutalities and facts
I will not live in an undiscovered past !

Tommy Randell 08th August 2017
Difficult to write ...
Em Oct 2018
there lie parts of me

my lips never disclose

words foreign to my tongue

thoughts buried so deeply within my own mind

i could never say them aloud

but when my fingertips touch a pen

words flood out in black ink across blank canvases

the facade i kept going on for so long for an instant dropped

you want to know the real me?

read my poetry,

because that will be the only time my mask comes off

and is the closest to the real me you will ever get

ElEschew Jul 2018
Addictions are like *******
Everyone has one, and they usually stink
whatever you need to get you through
What about when its not drugs?
How does she disclose
When her scars itch
When she's twitching
Looking for something
what is it
what is it
what is it
what is it
where is it
where where where....
Her mind races
Her scars burn hot
Hot enough to burn her shorts
Hotter than her tears
Under the board on her stand
Shiny and stolen
Mechanical pencils are better anyway
She mutters to herself
Up goes her shorts
Up goes her sleeves
Dont count, make them even
In a line
Not like that
Her sister gets clean
She's left in limbo
How could she justify
How could she seek help
When she does it to herself
When it wont make her *****
When it wont make her seize
Addictions, everyone has one
For her, there's a relapse on the way
who knew self harm was addictive
Angelica Liu Dec 2019
It would have been a usual night
If I hadn't raised my eyes
and glanced at the sky.
It was as though
that this
my first intimate encounter with the moon

had just
passed her
prime of maturity
and her fullness has just
began to wane, like a luminous bun
of an ancient beauty, rounded and heavy,
gently nestling on the impeccable
nape of the neck of the lady
whose face is always

at the sight of her
so close, as if one step
forward would make me an intruder
into the secluded boudoir of her solitude.
My world is a battlefield, burned and smoky
while hers is quiet, clean and immutable
as though one day of hers is
a thousand years
of mine

do you
never turn around
and disclose the truth
of your beauty to the earth?
The whole silence of the night sky
speaks to the mystery of your silhouette  
Oh, my lady, you are too far for my reach,
yet so close at the same time
that you can shine into
the deepest layer
of my mortality

as if,
your world
is superimposed on mine
poetryaccident Dec 2018
I became a poem to realize
the hidden depths both good and bad
that dwell inside my twisted breast
both victim and so much worse

below a surface many see
lays a monster seeking peace
the die is cast by its own hand
along with wounds from other men

this sum that borrows from the soul
asking dues that none pay
with the rub that all must give
more than fairness would see fit

to those ends I press letters
like sad bodies of butterflies
against the page as if to blur
where I stand against the rest

hiding in the midst of prose
there is wisdom in what’s shared
if only the muse would point
to the parts that mean the most

perhaps some others will disclose
how these apply to my world
when the poet becomes the poem
they are lost within the words.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181228.
The poem “Become a Poem” was inspired by the quote by David Carradine: “If you can’t be a poet, be the poem.”    Poets who write A LOT will place themselves within the resulting poems.  To what end?  Sometimes they may even listen to the advice given.
cmp Dec 2019
as willed though what not
so will as if mind revealed
through thought nor notion

adrift nor uplift ye
don't fret as seem
though just is then
as just was not now

forsake moment
prevail over sec
offer up minute
til hour assimilate ye

thus get back cost of experience at no risk
now take on encountered tisk tisk loss
to wake upon actuality
not to go down as reality

hear ye without guidance induce self reliance
hear ye without purpose ensue self independent theorem
that'll inevitably defy another's embraced misgiving or pacify norm
now steadfast and conform oneself
though lucid measures over means
that'll impede another's undisciplined self impact from affecting ye
Nikki May 2019
If pressed, I wouldn’t say that I’m unhappy
To leave one home for another,
But that I’m living in the future
And thusly have no control over my surroundings,
For they do not–might not ever–exist, and the I today and the I of June
Are distant relatives.

So, if further proposed the question
Of whether or not I grieve,
I’d reply that this town is like a loved one
Who I shall only visit on leap years,
And decisions are as deaths.
When I go, I’ll leave a piece behind forever.

If asked, I might not disclose
That the fresh wound of impatient joy harbors a quiet fear
Of disappearing into Ventnor City
From the hearts of those who are still in mine.

Yet, should one wonder
If I might reconsider,
I’d reply that decisions are as new lives.
When I arrive, I’ll weep with uncertainty.
I’ll meet the I of June on the shoreline.
I’ll feel the boardwalk under my feet and realize, with a start,
I’m home.
Margot Apr 2019
We lie amidst Ripe mountain herbs,
The nightingale has just begun its summer trill,
This hymn for golden vocal cords
Composed no owner of a writing quill

So sweet were melodies produced
That I mistook the front row lady’s cheap perfume
For blossoms, above which haunting hornets mused;
For an aroma of our Shakespeare love in bloom.

The serenading cardboard creatures –
Those thieve their voice from birds with no address.
Meanwhile a glass raised in a playhouse features
But colored water, as red as gipsy’s dress.

When the last spectator goes,
Having not found at least one genuine sun,
As actors, we recede into descending roles;
Electric blood in lamps’ capillaries feels numb.  

A lovely ladybug, I doubt, I will ever catch,
A lifelike flower, dipped in a painting fusion:
All this, fine artists tenderly attach  
To lifeless decorations, for aid they do us in a willful staged illusion.

Three burnt sienna pearls run down your spine
Yet after a big round of applause
These jewels are no longer signs of the divine,
But witches’ marks or, rather, unalluring flaws.

After the play I went to buy a notebook from my shopping list
To store the overgrowing verses, such as these;
A sheet of paper guarantees
To treat them like extinguishing bees

Cashiers ****** the change into my hand,
You purchased hothouse roses with;
And up those pretty useless beauties stand
In someone’s vase, whose name remains a myth.

They give me back those polished dimes
You traded for a pair of shoes.
I’ve seen you marshal through onstage lifetimes,
Yet to disclose personas’ traces the theater walls refuse.

Your chocolate hair has just fallen from the hairdresser’s hand,–
That’s how I know the summer’s coming to a bitter end.
This poem I dedicated to a local theater actor Julian. During one of his plays I thought of this fictional plot. Thank you for reading!
Deadwood Jawn Sep 2019
Look at me, dear...
And just see..

               I am ALONE.
               None have time for me!
               Yes, though some do,
               It is not the ones I want.


                                        No.. That's just..
                                        How I feel.
                                       I can't connect with the same gender.
                                        I hate being emotional with
                                                            ­                       other men.
         I need the opposite
They're much more...
Validating­ and
                   I can express myself
authentically, then.

They all got with their boyfriends and left me.
They all got with their girlfriends and left me.
They all got jobs and left me.
Yes, all the greatest and warmest
                   They left me.
                                             Not a day goes past where
                                             I do not think of them.
                                                           ­   My soul yearns and needs.
                                                          ­    I am needing.

People stopped looking after themselves..
And left me.

                            I don't care if I'm selfish.
I do not care if I sound ungrateful.
             I know who I am.
                                               I know how much I give.
                    I know I'm allowed to.. Express.
No, yes...
             I will not be denied.
                                                         ­                                I
                                                               ­  Really
    ­                              Crave
                 So much....


I miss the days.
Where my friends or classmates
Would disclose to me that
they cut themselves too.
I miss that.
Not because I enjoy them suffering...
But because I enjoyed that intimacy...
What must I do?

                                     What must I do?
              What must I do?

                                                            ­   What must I do?

                                                            ­ Find a girlfriend?
                                                     ­        No...
                                                           ­  I am not strong enough
                                                          ­   For that, yet.


                              No, not yet.


Wrap your hands around my heart and let me feel again.
O accursed. Please.
Yes, do see my pain and agony inside.
For I am bleeding out.
                                        I am forever lonesome.
                                        Let me know what touch feels like,
                                        Once again.


Why won't anyone want to touch me...

I want to touch them...

But they don't want to touch me...


They don't want to touch me...
Not anymore..

Just how many times do they speak to you first?
I'm grieving the loss of my greater friendships.
Em Jun 2019
The phrase
“I love you”
has been abused.
Over used and over time
has become misunderstood
for all things temporary.
Infatuation is an emotion,
in love there is devotion.
Where infatuation ends,
love is only beginning.

I will love you long before my lips
will ever disclose that to you,
but when I say “I love you”
the fabric of my heart will split at all seams to
envelope you as you are, perfectly imperfect.

When I say “I love you”
I am making a promise,
but until I’ve seen every square inch of your soul I will patiently wait.

So when the time comes
and I say I love you,
you’ll undeniably believe me.

-when I say “I love you” I hope your heart sees it's safe to call me its home

Dr Baljit Singh Jun 2019
My students said
Here they understood more
I too understood more about defaming
When they all began defaming him

Do you want religion to be taught here in Australia in all schools?
The answer was a mixed feeling
I’m not writing to disclose more
Englishman has employed me

The difference is in timing
What time where we stand

Dr Baljit Singh
Thursday 27th June 2019
it's always gonna be something with me
at least that's how it feels
why can't i get over myself
it can't possibly be that hard to heal
first i want loyalty
but that's asking too much
how dare i have expectations
who even gives a ****
then i want patience
and love and support
it's silly to think
i want for even more
i am dying to be consoled
and to look into someone's eyes
and believe them when they say i'm not horrid
rather than expecting it all to be a lie

so the world says ******* to me
for wishing with all my heart
it took the one bond i cherished
and shredded it apart

now i'm even needier
i barely even function
every memory stings
it takes an ocean of tears to numb them
the act of betrayal is so severe
i shut down on sight
i need you to be who i thought you were
i need it to be a lie
i need i need i need i need
i need to come to terms
it's all wrong, change it back
but that's just not how it works

i need an explanation
what did i do wrong
tell me what i can fix
show me how to move on
you seem fine
you dont look back
you're happy without me
you never crack
that positivity of yours
is omnipresent
i thought you would miss me
or at least regret it

i need to yell at you
i need to make you understand
how this all boils down
to me questioning who i am
am i a friend
am i the enemy
will i lash out
will i show sympathy
i don't know
i never thought it'd come to this
i trusted you
so i guess it's what i get

i need a sorry
i need to hear the catch in your voice
i need to know you didn't mean it
hear you acknowledge you made the wrong choice
but i'm afraid i'll disclose
and you won't even blink
what if you never cared
and you never needed me
the way i need you
even in this moment
i'm attached
and everybody knows it

i got my sorry
i felt it in the way you spoke
you never meant to hurt me
you never intended to ghost
but you didn't know what to say
or how to not make it worse
you look back at what you did
and you're disgusted by your words
i know you have learned better
and that gives me peace of mind
but as relieving as this is
something doesn't feel right

i stay up the whole night
rereading what you said
i cant believe it happened
i'm paralyzed in my bed
laying in a crumple
in a drying puddle of tears
the apology echoes off the walls of my mind
as i go back a couple years
and remember when we met
to when i thought you were perfect
then realizing you weren't
****** into the current
of recalling the old us
and comparing them to the new
i have changed tremendously
and i needed to learn you did too

but still when i close my eyes
i feel unstable and ugly
every little thing haunts me
i thought you could trust me
i thought i could trust you
and it's not that I don't now
i just can't shake the feeling
of self-doubt when you're around

i need a sorry
and i got it
but not forgotten
in fact i've been haunted
by that stupid conversation
i tried to rush the process of healing
i thought i was being patient
i thought I could just go back to normal
just hug you and say hi in the halls
but i feel so ugly in my skin still
and i hate to admit i think it's your fault
i thought i could trust you
i think one day i might
for now i'm gonna try
but its gonna take some time
and i know it's just a saying
and i'm not trying to burden you with guilt
but i think i'm realizing once the trust is gone
it takes a life time to rebuild
paige tenielle Dec 2018
the atmosphere is scorching
the heat of your cruel intentions
spread like wildfire.
your dark
mysterious demeanor
draws me into bed.
and not straying from my
typical self
i am submissive
to the temperature.
the way it burns
leaves me begging for more.

the devil
is who you are.
malicious volition
that you circumvent
as an angel would.
which allows me
to disclose
im sleeping with the sweetest
of devils.
and i live for the pain.
Harriet Cleve Jul 2019
Jesus the Nazarene has died at Golgotha. Now He will return to Earth as a participant in all the Major conflicts in every century since his death on the Cross. He will walk in every continent and witness the horror of War as He desperately tries to change the course of History.

Jesus sat in quiet contemplation in a resting area for deep reflection.

God approached him gently.

'What is it Son?'

'You must know,  Father'

'I fear we will lose them. I must go back'

'Back to Earth'

Jesus wept as He looked up at God.

'I must find a way to see what divides them'

'What is it in them that is destructive to life'

'Look at them!'

'We must find a way to save them'

God said nothing for a moment.

Then after a moment looked at his son

'Have you forgotten the scourge of their whips'
'The piercing spear in your side!

'The Crown of Thorns on your head!'

'The nails as they hung you on a Cross!

Silence settled momentarily

'Perhaps there is a way, Jesus, despite my anger'

'I have noticed that even in war they are capable of deep and profound love for the sanctity of Life'

'They will even help their enemy when they realise their common humanity. It is a paradox'

'I too have thought about this yet I could not bear to see you in another Golgotha'

'If you wish it so much then I will permit it'

'It will not be as a second coming, Jesus'

'First, we must send you amongst them'

'Into the greatest conflicts of every century since you sacrificed
yourself on the Cross'

'You will not go to bring them redemption. I want to see this continuing desire for war through their eyes. I will see it through your eyes'

'Each time you are killed in a combat zone it is then we will meet each other again directly'

Jesus was astonished.

He was eager to please his Father and place his confidence in Him.

'Shall I know of your presence while I am on Earth, Father?'

'Will I know I am your son? The Son of God'

'You will know it, Jesus. At all times you will know that I am with you' God replied.

'This time though you will not disclose your holy name to anyone'

'If at any time I feel their is need for divine intervention then I will come to you'.

'You can ask me any time for intervention if you feel that it is critical I intervene'

'Jesus, my Son, you will feel at times I have forsaken you. That you are alone amongst the carnage.

'This is the way it must be'

'Only they can help themselves'

'I understand,Father'

'I will find a way to see through their eyes.

'Remember, Jesus that once again you walk amongst them'
'Your love for them will be tested to the limits'

'I cannot permit you to take arms against them. To **** them'

'You will be an army medic in every situation. Perhaps a priest'.

'It may be you are an officer at a desk. There you will do what you can to diminish the time frame and carnage of each conflict'

'Where shall I go to first?' said Jesus

God looked at his son. His son he loved so much.

This son who loved the human as much as He did.

'Your first steps back on Earth will be in America'

'You will be born and come of age at nineteen'

'Son, you will be trained in a place called Paris Island'

'You will enter one of the greatest conflicts in American History'

'As a recruit in the Vietnam war as a medic'

'Your name will be Joseph Arimathea

'Remember that each time you are born on Earth it will not be of woman. You will first become aware of in an orphanage'

'No one will know your background'

Jesus embraced his Father. He would be a young man soon.

Time passed quickly.

Joseph Arimathea was stared at by the drill sergeant.

'Look at the state of you! Your hair is a disgrace to the Nation!'

'Are you a man?! 'We will make you a man soon enough!'

Joseph shouted 'Sir! Yes! Sir!

His training would be hard and his heart broken in his tour of duty.

The coming events would test his limits and his faith in humanity to their uttermost extremities.

His hair was a military cut. He stood six foot in his American uniform. He looked good.

His hands were scarred. God said it would remind him to always be aware of treachery. For Judas was in every century. In every conflict.

Another young man walked up to him that evening. A young slim good looking man.

'Hi! my name is Henry! Henry Iscariot'

Joseph looked him in the eye and knew God was with him.

'Don't let the name scare you' laughed Henry

Soon they would be in the thick of war and in this conflict Henry would prove to be no betrayer.
This is an on going story. Next installment sees Jesus in basic training and his first hand experience in the Vietnam War
The X Rhymes Jul 2019
the organs had to mutiny
as brain had gone awry
‘it’s actions don’t bear scrutiny’
the eyes were first to cry
‘well, something doesn’t smell right’
reports ran from the nose
and though the lips remained shut tight
they’d plenty to disclose
like how brain’s lack of thinking straight
had wrecked the status quo
too weak, they felt, to bear the weight
high office did bestow
‘it don’t inspire confidence’
the spine said, round his back
‘and acting past it’s competence’
the heart joined the attack
promoted past ability
their feeling, by and large
and causing instability
who’d left the brain in charge?
‘forgetful,’ hands said, ’like a sieve
it’s time we seized control
and who has brain been sleeping with
to land the leading role?’
‘so much for meritocracy’
the throat began to shout
‘****-kissing and hypocrisy
that’s how they dole jobs out’
the kidneys cried ‘who is that *****?
he’s offal at his job!’
‘hey that’s offensive!’ said his ****
‘to every **** and ****’
these rumblings in the canteen
left appetites un-whet
‘it’s time for action’ called the spleen
his stomach got upset
‘I know it sounds hard to digest
when you’re all so annoyed
but my gut feeling’s brain’s depressed
or maybe paranoid’
with state of play in disarray
morale sailed south from low
the matters grey brought such dismay
‘the brain’, they said, ‘must go’
and so they called a meeting
and forced brain to attend
the feet said ‘no retreating -
elbows and knees, don’t bend’
the fingers typed the minutes
the backside took the chair
saying ‘brain, we’ve reached our limit
you’re broke beyond repair
once a steady moral compass
now your needle’s in a spin
and your body parts will rumpus
if your reasoning grows thin
and your constant heavy drinking
leaves your sanity suspect
and if beer does all the thinking
we’ll be forced to de-select’
they thought him sick
a lunatic
that what they said, he’d do
but they’d been tricked
failed to predict
their worst fears could come true
presumed a thorough rinsing
would leave brain hung and dried
he’d need no more convincing
but then the brain replied…
‘you think you can
control this man
with coup d’etat flim-flam?
you’ll need more than
a foolish plan
if those down there
could wear my hair
my tenure would be stopped
but jaw’s too square
the lungs? hot air
the ***** have long been dropped
the fists? no clout
the mouth? all pout
so state your nominee
to push me out
but have no doubt
this ship goes down with me
and those who boast
that they may coast
by transplant, have no hope
since there’s no posts
if overdosed
or found hung from a rope’
and so thoughts of brain’s banishment
were quick to lose their worth
they’d be under new management
and six feet of damp earth
and as his threat rang loud and clear
the fists could barely thump
the ears pretended not to hear
the ****** did a trump
the lungs felt so deflated
but wheezed back into work
his bones felt dislocated
his wrists felt like a ****
but brain’s brand of diplomacy
had quelled their malcontent
and while not how things ought to be
I hear that’s how they went.
Spoiler alert.
It’s another long one.
And there’s some fruity language in there somewhere.
Short stories in rhyme.
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