"doling" poems
Whirlpool of whirling quaint
Inequality brewing in the
Winepress of smithereens
Fragile polity.
Voices of weariness cried
Out from the wasteyard of
Waste for succour,
Pointing fingers of
Recrimination towards
The abyss of drouth ,
Entangled in conflicts
Of interest.
Winds of improvised emblem
Bearing hunchback of
Woes,
Raising hands from the
Drowning deep sea
For rescue like
A dejected beautiful
Vigaro in a
Turbulent ocean of quarrel
With her spouse.
Whereas reddish fluids of life
Runs across the same veins
And arteries of haves
And haves-not but
Cottage of interests
Hoisting avalanche of
Rainbow-coloured flags
Standing aloof on the
Pole of misrule,
Demarcating their interests.
No accommodation for wants
In the corridor of affluence.
Wants on a trade mission
With wealthy but caged in
The confinement of wealth.
Winds of inequality blew
Whirler of wants into
The marrow of the
Haves-not.
Rains of inequality passing
Through a lockage of lack
Into the improvised,
Doling-out poverty to
Gain the control of
Wealth.
Alas! Blindness sees inner
Vision of darkness from
The households of political
lamia.
Alas! Deafness hears
Discordant vague voices
Of failure from the forest
of frustration.
Alas! Dumbness speaks
Language of gnomes out
Of the vale of forgotten
treasures.
Alas! A four year tenancy
turning into decades
of challenges.
But we shall revive our hope
and raise our voices
tomorrow.
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 8:19 AM UTC
I have faith in medical science
But little in practice.
Straight spined doctors
Racing stopwatches against
Their appointment books.
Extolling the virtues of thousands of years of medical research
But unable to consider anyone's opinion other than their own.
Kindly, soft-voiced nurses shuffling from
Room to room
Doling out condolences and reassurances
Paired with regimens
Of drugs and IVs.
While Old Time in the ticking clock
Slows
To a dead crawl.
And the noise of heartbeats on machines
And discussions out in the hall
And loved ones distracting and pacifying patients in beds
Layer on top of one another to form a firm blanket of
Crushing. Boredom.
And the antiseptic smell does nothing to ease
The passing of time spent waiting
While the medical machine spins its wheels
To the chime of slot machines.
And the bustling rush outside a curtain
On hard white floors,
Does less than lend a sense a peace
But more of frantic urgency.
Minute long - task oriented visits
Where they know names, numbers, and insurance coverage
And they know how many steps it takes for them
To lend more of their valuable time
In that modern balance of cost and care.
Leaving me wondering,
Where did the connection go?
I wonder where peoples' trust went
And when it was replaced with,
"How much will this cost me?"
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 8:06 PM UTC
Corporations **** the core
Cuts the soul to ribbons
Takes all the labor
And pays back in paltry paychecks
That barely covers our debts
Whilst doling out pain and exhaustion
But the people are good
Hardworking and smiling
Straining to maintain
That spark of heart
That remains
While paying their bills
And feeding their family
The shift starts
And tired bodies
Stumble in
Factory already
Rumbling
Like last night’s thunder
People laughing and chatting
Lebanese dude calls me Habibie
Grinning and patting me on the back
Brown brother give me a knuckle bust
As he passes by with a playful gleam in his eyes
One guy doesn’t high five but bumps elbows
The Congo girls speak another language
Beautiful flowing and musically rhythmical
The Janitor sings Motown
In this factory town these are good people
The generators hum
The machine sings
Doing their thing
Hoses circulate water
Like life’s blood
Taking in the heat
And sending it away
Bringing back more cool water
That does the same
Cooling the loud and hot equipment
While the employees are stressed and sweating
Wearing muscle fatigue and sleep deprivation
Like it’s their second skin
The machines drums ch, ch, crack
Ch, ch crack like a musical number
While the workers hustle
A smoke break and a popsicle
Then back to work
A lunch break and a conversation
Then back to work
Last smoke break and a phone call
Then back to work
Leaving the factory body hurting
But still coming off
The assembly line a good person
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
An eye for an eye
leaves everyone blind
vengeance is always
best left behind
To repay evil with evil
cannot balance a scale
it's just amplified evil
doling out one more fail
Things are only made worse
when you follow that course
why do men still believe
they're immune to this curse
Will man ever learn
or let his soul burn
while anger within him
continues to churn
It's time to wake up
repay evil with kind
your reward is within
as it brings peace of mind
Breaking the circle
preserving our sight
it may not be easy
but well worth the fight
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 7:07 AM UTC
Funny, how the thing you love turns sour
When its back is broken and the rug pulled
Clear, exposing hard surfaces to deal with
The staircase leads to the decision maker or
The messenger; doling out the ‘nothing personal’
You see, we’re expendable, wrecked through loyalty
It didn’t work despite extreme effort; when they
Look at us anger wells up spitting, encircling
Their heads
A glimmer of something like understanding
Scrapes their tongues, doesn’t quite meet the
Mark or hit the spot and sticks in their mouths
We knew before they did
See through
Substance missing
Finished
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 2:42 PM UTC
I'm known for navel-gazing my way to elation,
and am living in a country caught within
the grips of frenzied matriculation.
My insidiously
malapert generation,
my incessantly
malcontent gene-nation.
This is a Garden of Eden,
Where is our guard of Eden?
carefully removing
all who are not heathen.
Plucking the clouded excess from an already crowded bed of hegemony, as a gardener would and so should.
It is a mirage, a far off oasis of Arcadia and
I say this all unconcernedly, a basis for this absurdity.
I have stolen my ego from god,
I will carry this yoke readily,
and I shall take up my axe doling out mechanically.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 11:03 PM UTC
What can the spawns of Ahriman say, that hasn't been said before
What can Angra Mainyu linage do that hasn't been done
Children of Jahi the ***** fathered by The Opposer himself
When the Ghost of ghosts spawned his offsprings in Hades
Did he not promise them the world and declared it his
Did he not remove the dusts of damnation from them
And send them down to continue his dominion of fire
Once the second exalted but twisted from his arrogance
He faced down the Omnipotent Light and sought to usurp
From thence on banished in eternal shame he remains
The Ghost of Ghosts spawning his demons and ghouls
The pretenders without light or hues washed in satyr's milk
Disciples of extraction of the purity of the sinless inoncents
Henceforth they seek ********** over the joys of Creation
Killers that **** with all deeds and actions the Glories of Light
Ghosts who opened Pandora before Pandora came alive
Who plundered and ravaged as their master solely intended
To destroy all the Magnificence of the Omnipotent Creator
Who stands unequalled Pure and Mighty in His Golden Realm
Ghost of ghosts fights on earth with his spawns multiplying
Master of wickedness doling out false knowledge to ghosts
Covering them with false beauty and riches in ****** minds
Take your poisoned rewards and destroy to live like kings
For I make you children of destruction and ghosts without souls
Soon you will all come and burn forever in undying molten fire
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 10:18 AM UTC
An eye for an eye
leaves everyone blind
vengeance is always
best left behind
To repay evil with evil
cannot balance a scale
it's just amplified evil
doling out one more fail
Things are only made worse
when you follow that course
why do men still believe
they're immune to this curse
Will man ever learn
or let his soul burn
while anger within him
continues to churn
It's time to wake up
repay evil with kind
your reward is within
as it brings peace of mind
Breaking the circle
preserving our sight
it may not be easy
but well worth the fight
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 8:10 PM UTC
pour scorn upon my being
of its acid of wrath I'll take
measure by measure
repeat the dose
quadruple it if you will
the **** hath been flayed
with a whipping of disapproval
before
of disdain's cane
I'll be happy to bear
so keep on doling out
the contempt with all its flair
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 6:20 PM UTC
Clean of blots
and residue clots
Love overflows the moats.
Ripples weft dimple nets
Emit smiling drifts
Doling out thrills
This flowing rarity
Flows and flows
Rolling infinity
Falls on solid rocks
And flings out and flocks
On spontaneous little wings
flights of life butterflies.
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 9:15 AM UTC
We didn't see that one coming,
a curved ball out of nowhere
'there but for the grace...'
but
let's face it
we knew they were titanic tossers
dealing
off the bottom of the deck
*****
low down
double crossers,
doling out
reeling more in
they're getting fat
we're at the thin end
of the wedge
all
hedging bets
let's face it
we run out of words to describe
the lie they use
to justify
just why they abuse.
The greed of them is becoming legendary,
human decency goes by the board while
the board in the boardroom are ********
with my life as if
it is I
that's
the bride and
the longest suffering wife.
well
they can do what they like,
but I don't have to like what they do
and if they're fuckin' with me they're
sure as hell
fuckin' with you.
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 12:18 AM UTC
is side-flip of vivid
awesomely augmented
projection blissings
sated seraphims spin
atop agile toes
but so do
voracious villains
those ******* link arms
and do-si-do
spinning you
wrong 'round
fear dealers
doling out
bunk doses
I keep
throwing up palms
like whoawhoawhoa
not now - got **** to do
inside the fuckin' zone
ego seen-through
crushmoded
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 11:36 AM UTC
if you pick me up
from my house
and find me standing in the driveway
fidgeting with my hands and tapping
my foot
it is not your fault
it is the feeling that i do not
deserve to be treated kindly
carved into my bones
and i am trying to scratch it out
because seeing your smile
makes tears sting my eyes
but the second i slide into
the seat next to you
and you put your hand on my knee
i already feel safer
if i spend more time
looking at the menu than at you
it is not your fault
i am not counting the calories
because they are not listed
and it is usually only hospitals that do that
but i am afraid to look you in the eyes
because all i will see is love
and a sparkle that i am afraid
i will ***** out
if i only eat a little bit of my food
and ask the waiter to bring a to-go
box to the table along with our plates
it is not your fault
it is the flashbacks of my family
making fun of the way that i ate
one thing at a time
because even as a boy
i was already being wrapped tighter
and tighter in the grasp
of trauma-induced OCD
if i **** away when your foot
touches mine under the table
it is not your fault
nor is it really mine
and isn’t that strange
that my mother only doling out
cruel touches can still cling to me
even as a young man
if i only take one bite of the dessert
that you ordered just for me
it is not your fault
and i am sorry if i hurt your feelings
but even though the anorexia is
now just a faint whisper in the back of
my mind
it is still there
and at just a whiff of the sweet
i am barraged by the cruelty
in her eyes
when she told me how fat i was
and then praised and loved me
when i was nothing more than
skin and bones
if i go rigid when you hug me
and then bury my head in your shoulder
it is not your fault
i am not good at receiving affection
or kind words
because i grew up with a severe lack of both
and i had none of either left to give myself
because i did not know how to
but i want you to know
that standing there
in the circle of your arms
breathing in your distinct smell
i feel safe
and loved
like i’ve come home
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 1:46 PM UTC
It's hell down here,
hell in blue lights
and sweaty
bodies
hotter with desperation
than an empty frying pan.
From the frying pan to the club
we burn
and die
to wake up for work
in the morn.
When I come home,
I swear
I saw my mother
in blue and green
walking away from me
pushing a cart
wrapped in garbage bags,
looking cold as hell
and her plastic eyes
were clouded with brown tears.
When
I trip over my ****
drunk
in the middle of the night
and I hear sirens,
I swear,
I see God
doling out peace
while I'm afraid
for what years I have left.
I just want people to know I exist,
to know I existed,
to know that
there's something wrong
and I'm the black tornado
spinning up garbage
and dead bodies
in my mind.
If I die,
and nothing's left,
then you'll know why,
hell is a storm
and God hands out weather reports everyday.
Jan 28, 2012
Jan 28, 2012 at 8:54 PM UTC
What if I had music coming from my tears would the speed they flowed increase my fears
Breaking out of the ritual & routine, what is to become, is yet to be seen
Some only know the ringing while others receive future symphonies into their ears
Is it going out or is it coming in ,receiving is pleasure while formation is pain
Tapping toes,passing time, routine melody's running around my mind melancholy muses hidden for years
A living link brought out in rhyme ,emotions are not a crime ones loss is anothers gain
whether the verse began as terse or left us enthralled,a vibe is delving into our souls
No language as a barrier when the music is the carrier,harmony as a role leaves little to explain
Simple vibrations outward gyrations making their way through our mind,inward bliss becoming one of our goals
Possibly imitating nature ,woodwinds finding their way back to the forest,birds
beckoning with their beaks new ,notes nice language for our brain
Sampling simplicity with a mellow tone,then all encompassing sounds making their rounds ,bringing beauty into our homes
Chants to chorus, raps to rhythms doling out the dirges that eventually encompass our souls. R.C.
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 7:33 AM UTC
How does a lie taste
after it leaves the tongue and
floats past lips?
Does it thicken, sweeten, and
caramelize like vindication?
Or does it quickly evaporate
and leave in its wake a thin
layer of salt
like tears or a nervous sweat?
I’ve always licked my lips after
doling deception…
I taste only skin.
A kiss--
Your lips have much more to sample
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 9:15 AM UTC
i have no idea how many hours she toiled
in the community kitchen before i arrived,
but she’d made a *** of tofu stew, a bowl
of rice and beans, some spinach lasagna
soaked in marinara, hummus
and daiya cheese sandwiches.
diligent and dutiful,
without question,
without expectation.
an hour later, we stood in Lykes Gaslight Park,
doling out food to the houseless folks
who’d lined up for a vegan meal
when, out of the blue, a well-dressed
college student swaggered up to us,
his smile shimmering, and asked
what we were doing.
she brushed a loose strand
of hair behind one ear,
smearing a bit of sauce
across her cheek,
and said, “we are here to live
as if we are already free.”
they were sharing food too,
he explained, which was all well
and good. but we couldn’t help but notice
they’d never set foot here in the past,
that they only came out
when the season
passed into the holidays.
“you know,” he told us,
“you might not realize,
but the Lord Jesus Christ
is using you for the gospel.”
which seemed rather strange,
given that he’d be back
in his sanctuary before the year
was out, raising his hands
and praising his dead god
instead of standing beside us
every Tuesday and Saturday,
sharing.
but we remember the legacy
of the radical Nazarene,
the anarchic revolutionary
who fed five thousand—
a conquest of bread
with nothing but a few loaves
and some fish.
if you listen closely,
you can still hear him whispering,
“take what you need,
give what you can.”
we carry a new world
in our hearts and heads.
we don’t feed the hungry
to win a one-way trip to heaven.
so when you forget
about the poor you use as a prop,
we godless few will remain
in the streets until every belly’s full
and capitalism collapses—
risking arrest, fighting abuse,
addiction and empty stomachs.
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 7:25 AM UTC
I'm patiently waiting
for a gift
from Satan,
or the heaven's above,
something to get me
through this,
this little pearl
of wisdom
makes me push for it
through self-derision,
so when I say
that
I got the seed
for the next
demon
in my sack,
I'm telling you
that I'm at the lowest
point
of the world,
the deepest
heaven,
a heaven
of pain,
and malicious
thoughts
birthing
something vicious,
I want you to understand,
that I need
a few wishes,
a genie
'needs to start doling
out pearls
instead of blazing palaces
and
some federal loans,
I can do nothing
with the biggest houses; the biggest debt
I have to pay
is my pain
which is boiling underneath
my skin,
and it doesn't feel
like God is listening
or handing out grants
with my name
in gold ink.
Touch me with your love
and I might touch your temples
with a fist
and in its grimy depths
there is salvation
that can get you and me both
out of this
heaven of pain.
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 7:01 PM UTC
the writers block entrances to stone vestibules
life congeals and appeals to those despicable few
creaky mattress, true, but we flew by burnt capitals
the grass's dew dried up at four o'clock in the morning
we learnt the vastness of our own chaotic complexities
it's impractical, doling out the pasts to our moping guests
insight into their creature comforting me, smiling languidly
he saw those hooligans dance above his crumbling tombstone
impregnated by the rain, headlight shone into impending gloom
waiting, moaning, mourning in a deadlocked, deadweighted room
we're inclined to drown in our own questions, in irreconcilable fate
and a hateful frown, the tasteful waste adorning those latest to bloom
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 12:09 AM UTC
the writers block entrances to stone vestibules
life congeals and appeals to those despicable few
creaky mattress, true, but we flew by burnt capitals
the grass's dew dried up at four o'clock in the morning
we learnt the vastness of our own chaotic complexities
it's impractical, doling out the pasts to our moping guests
insight into their creature comforting me, smiling languidly
he saw those hooligans dance above his crumbling tombstone
impregnated by the rain, headlight shone into impending gloom
waiting, moaning, mourning in a deadlocked, deadweighted room
we're inclined to drown in our own questions, in irreconcilable fate
and a hateful frown, the tasteful waste adorning those latest to bloom
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 4:36 PM UTC
Sally would with the wall
Music so shrouded, a hat of compliance
The terror involved
A chance meeting with resolve, that stated intention...
My name is Carlton
Spate energies, and the vague way
A harping halt to better problems
Has saved me from a hateful demon, with it to say:
Choose me over any other, the collapse of vows
Has a futile throw of light, in the remark innuendo made
Salt and harmony, to fetch a liberty without how
Is a door on commonness, that has the shape of futures sate
Lemonade and dickory cookies
Shown the time of their life, a hallway to sigh
Scurrilous was a special man, with a plan, for a dreams ease
With the stone of fending remorse into a corner, of life...
Patiently, the day came to a close...
Proud Sally, or privileged Carlton
A wish adrift in the evening your, the scared host
Of another smile to win, the promise of a stoic question...
Hello, I have the world to sleep longer than me
Simply roles of victory, victimized by a lip of succor
Rhyming and doling the obvious, of a secret means
To an ending for serenity, that knows your craving for ours?
May 8, 2024
May 8, 2024 at 4:01 PM UTC
The Day is fast approaching, the Day of Doom and Dread
Don't say you weren't warned, when it brakes upon your head
-
It's called the Tribulation, Seven Years of pain
Seven years of Judgment, the sentence Death and Bane
-
After you are dead, your soul will burn in Hell
The bell is soon to ring, can you hear its doling knell?
-
As in the days of Noah, so it is today
Not to worry not to fret, go your merry way
-
Go your merry way, until the First Seal breaks
Then for Seven Years, only Death and Pain and Aches
-
Seven Seals, Seven Trumpets, Seven Vials of HATE
You will see them all, for you it's too **** late
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
I will never tell them
Of the man in hospital chair beside me,
Chest hair poking through blue paper scrubs,
More than was on his head.
His locks like dull gray wires on scalp,
Jutting into the air as if charged,
Leaving a shiny full moon patch of skin on top.
I will never tell them
The way his beard seemed to stretch as he bent my direction,
Joining forces with the follicles on his chest,
The way his breath seemed to steal mine as he occupied my space.
I will never tell them
About the man whose name starts with M.
They will know I could not look him in the eyes to see their color.
They will not know how old he looked when he stretched my way,
Voice barely audible over the din
Of other patients screaming and thrashing in their restraints,
Yells of babies ****** out under drugged hazes,
The wild fantasies of diseased minds.
They will not know.
I will never tell them
How his muscles flexed when he stood,
Shouting at another patient,
The fight,
His eyes seeking mine as if for approval.
They will know I did not look.
I will never tell them how he took my hand,
Mumbling into my ear about how soft was my skin,
Arms draped over my wheelchair, uninvited
As I huddled under blankets.
I will never tell them
How my best friend watched,
My teddy bear given to me at birth.
Although not human,
I regret my inability to shield her eyes from this abomination of a man.
She will know that I tried to tell him no.
She will know that staff walked by,
Blind to my waving hands,
Unable to hear the silent whoosh of air passing through my damaged vocal chords
As I begged for their assistance.
I will never tell them
The way he rubbed my back or traced my arm
Before settling his hands too high on my thigh to be polite.
I cannot say more here.
I will never tell them
About the ice in my stomach,
Flooding through my body,
Already numb to my circumstance,
Afraid that he would merely lift my withered body from my chair
And do what he intended on the floor.
No faith had I that staff were the slightest bit of help.
The interest of other patients in my voiceless body
Was a welcome distraction to the psychiatrist
Doling out necessary medication to those more dangerous than I.
I will never tell them
What he did to me in the common area,
Stuffed bear the only one present of mind enough to bear witness.
Therapist has a word for his actions,
Not one I had ever intended to apply to my story,
Something reserved for the unfortunate lot of others,
Assault.
I will never tell them
His name like jagged teeth
Or the way his hands wandered without consent.
For in their minds I am nothing without corroboration,
And HIPPA law will prevent that.
After all, was I not merely a mental patient anyway?
Sep 9, 2019
Sep 9, 2019 at 6:52 PM UTC
Staring all night
At the low hanging moon
Blind in the light
Despair so soon
Had the passion
But lost it then
Doling out the rations
Losing it all again
Pragmatic Pillow talk
At infinite distance
Reading in the chalk
A teacher's assistants
Quiet frustrations
Figuring out as we go
Certain illustrations
See you at work as you sew
Mouth is still
The fingers move
Words are my will
Anger shown to prove
Mistakes are made
Every single day
Those feelings fade
Where the needle lay
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 3:45 AM UTC
It'll be twenty years this spring.
Twenty.
I can still remember those red lockers,
and the cadgy way you took my appraisal.
I was so innocent then,
for all my ennui and dark eyeliner.
So young and untried.
Though we were only a year apart,
you had lived entire lifetimes
in the gap between us.
You offered me a taste,
and I devoured.
A ravenous thing,
I consumed every gleaming,
disjointed moment
in that bright world.
I was an experience ******
and you were my dealer,
my fix,
Doling out paradigms,
in neat white lines.
They called it a hole,
but it never felt like that to me.
Each hit was a journey,
And we travelled everywhere.
I was a glitter bug,
sashaying in platform heels,
you were a fresh faced candy necklace,
in a tank top and wide leg jeans.
Together we ruled the night.
We were fast and irreverent,
Trademarked by our frenetic maneuvering.
Free as the changing wind.
We were raging toward the dawn,
We were getting lit up like Christmas,
We were being kicked out of clubs,
And having dinner with the literature.
We were building blanket forts,
and breaking hearts.
We were breathing sound.
We were discovering the Multiverse,
and burning it
the
****
down!
We were two rarefied souls,
barreling toward oblivion,
laying it bare,
laying waste.
Discovering infinity,
Discovering ourselves.
Those were heady days,
and if I think about them long enough,
I can still get high on the flashback,
The swirl of fog through laser beams,
warm camphorous kisses
from loveable strangers,
Those deep beats...
If I close my eyes long enough,
I am transported
to a dark room somewhere...
A crumpled mess of girl,
you and I sloppily intertwined,
venturing ever elsewhere....
Two desperately seeking souls,
paired adventurers,
finding beauty in chaos,
in the unknown,
in heartache,
in everything.
Knowing that whatever we learned,
we learned in kind,
and that knowledge was ripe for the picking.
That everything is an offer,
an opportunity,
a lesson...
If one can just open herself,
to interpret the vibrations.
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 12:20 AM UTC