"dunce" poems
"silence is worse; all truths that are kept silent become poisonous.” ― friedrich nietzsche
like poking the hornet's nest with a stick, you are a rose with stems and thorns so thick,
your skin is protection from oppression, keeping the world out of your private channels
like i'm AM and you're FM all of which are static with distorted voices only science can pry through your enigmatic cacophony on a molecular level, and any evidence of who you are, i couldn't find with years of knowledge, a indestructible ship could speak more evidence about
why it was annihilated, obliterated, disintegrated under the ocean for months at a time without
any current survivors, and the last person i could be described as would be Sherlock Holmes
every detail washes over my head like a flood of details that can't enter because a force field
surround my head like it's a crown being so clueless, but it feels like i'm wearing a dunce hat
and maybe i do realize that there will be a position where you will be put out into light
there is no way out of your mind, like a schizophrenic, if kryptonite killed superman,
can it **** the infectious virus spreading like wildfire through these veins, can you stop
worrying about when you will finally break down and open up to someone?
****
- kra
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
Yes, I’m truly a dunce
Living among trees and plants.
Please don’t question me about illusion and enlightenment --
This old fellow just likes to smile to himself.
I wade across streams with bony legs,
And carry a bag about in fine spring weather.
That’s my life,
And the world owes me nothing.
5k
O make me a mask and a wall to shut from your spies
Of the sharp, enamelled eyes and the spectacled claws
**** and rebellion in the nurseries of my face,
Gag of dumbstruck tree to block from bare enemies
The bayonet tongue in this undefended prayerpiece,
The present mouth, and the sweetly blown trumpet of lies,
Shaped in old armour and oak the countenance of a dunce
To shield the glistening brain and blunt the examiners,
And a tear-stained widower grief drooped from the lashes
To veil belladonna and let the dry eyes perceive
Others betray the lamenting lies of their losses
By the curve of the **** mouth or the laugh up the sleeve.
4.5k
Annoying
At night I hear neighbors dogs barking,
under my wheels, their dogs I'm parking.
In the night, I hear things that go bump,
I load up the shotgun, and give it a pump.
Jehovah witnesses knocking at the front door,
how I wish, I could bury them under my floor.
The car in front of me driving to slow,
my horn I give a constant blow.
The person in front of me at the store, taking to long,
some people on this Earth just don't belong.
Can't seem to get an ********
even my hand got a rejection.
Roller coaster breaks down, right before my turn,
I've now reached the point of no return.
So many things make me annoyed,
maybe I need to visit Sigmund Freud.
Dinner not quite ready on time,
running out of things to rhyme.
No electric for more than an hour,
a woman that requires to much flour.
Watching movies I don't like,
My job is now going on strike.
Wiping my *** more than once,
wearing a hat that spells dunce.
Wife of ten years asked for a divorce,
things in life not taking the right course.
**** sites that make me pay,
my hair that is turning grey.
My beautiful children that never call,
girls that think my ***** is to small.
People that think their better than me,
having to pay for things that are free.
Things that annoy me is such a huge list,
just thinking about it is getting me ******
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 1:43 AM UTC
After Midnight
The narcissists fall
After Midnight
A new lyric calls
After Midnight
The bugles will blow
After Midnight
There’s more left to know
After Midnight
The lizards collect
After Midnight
All tales to reflect
After Midnight
The ticking won’t stop
After Midnight
The bottom has topped
After Midnight
A cancerous tome
After Midnight
Malignancy known
After Midnight
Betray and deceive
After Midnight
Alone in the siege
After Midnight
All footsteps fall deaf
After Midnight
Last palate uncleft
After Midnight
New story to front
After Midnight
A star for the dunce
After Midnight
The comets rebel
After Midnight
The coroners yell
After Midnight
A suit made of steel
After Midnight
Its melting reveals
After Midnight
The plain and the slack
After Midnight
There’s no turning back
After Midnight
A sacred oath sworn
After Midnight
All memory forlorn
After Midnight
The wheels bend and turn
After Midnight
Lost vision relearns
After Midnight
False birth is stillborn
After Midnight
Old vestments are torn
After Midnight
The here and the now
After Midnight
That one sacred cow
After Midnight
Past-Future unseen
After Midnight
—new eyes that believe
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 12:01 PM UTC
“Seldom we find,” says Solomon Don Dunce,
“Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet.
Through all the flimsy things we see at once
As easily as through a Naples bonnet—
Trash of all trash!—how can a lady don it?
Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff—
Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff
Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it.”
And, veritably, Sol is right enough.
The general tuckermanities are arrant
Bubbles—ephemeral and so transparent—
But this is, now—you may depend upon it—
Stable, opaque, immortal—all by dint
Of the dear names that lie concealed within’t.
3.6k
Rock this boat with your weight,
sink us to the ocean ground,
the emotional baggage was too much,
we took on one to many pounds.
So as we sink down let us remember,
how we were so light once,
flying through the sky,
now I am your dunce,
and we say goodbye.
But while you continue to sink I must let go,
like that cheesy moment with Leo DiCaprio.
Because this isn't the titanic,
we were not as beautifully indestructible,
so no need to panic,
this should have been predictable.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 9:07 PM UTC
After Midnight
The narcissists fall
After Midnight
A new lyric calls
After Midnight
Last bugle to blow
After Midnight
There’s more left to know
After Midnight
The lizards collect
After Midnight
Old tales to reflect
After Midnight
The ticking will stop
After Midnight
The bottom will top
After Midnight
A cancerous tome
After Midnight
Malignancy known
After Midnight
Betray and deceive
After Midnight
Alone in the siege
After Midnight
All footsteps fall deaf
After Midnight
Lost palates are cleft
After Midnight
New story to front
After Midnight
Two stars for the dunce
After Midnight
The comets rebel
After Midnight
The coroners yell
After Midnight
A suit made of steel
After Midnight
Its melting reveals
After Midnight
That voice in the back
After Midnight
There’s no turning back
After Midnight
A sacred oath sworn
After Midnight
All memory forlorn
After Midnight
The wheels bend and churn
After Midnight
Lost vision returns
After Midnight
False birth is stillborn
After Midnight
Old vestments are torn
After Midnight
The here and the now
After Midnight
That one sacred cow
After Midnight
Past-Future unseen
After Midnight
—creation redeemed
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 2:55 PM UTC
I tried to write a sonnet once
But only wrote twelve lines.
With number I am ever the dunce,
Make errors of all kinds.
Ten syllables is what’s required
Repeated fourteen times.
It makes me oh so very tired,
Before I find those rhymes.
And now I need a turning point,
A solution to the problem.
It’s time for me to rock this joint
From Cleethorpes up to Rotherham.
It looks contrived does each old poem,
So back to the drawing board I am going.
Paul Butters
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 5:36 AM UTC
You can tease me,
Beat me,
You know you wana be me,
You can hit me
Curse me
I'll pretend it never hurt me,
You can set me on fire,
And Call me a thief
You can call me a liar
And give me great grief
You could call me a gay
You can call me a dunce,
You could hit me all day,
But you only live once,
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 10:50 PM UTC
i was'nt very clever
at maths at park st school
thick as **** when adding up
a mathematics mule
but i was quite good looking
girls where always there
counting not a problem
with gelled black streaky hair
puberty and progress
next stage after kissing
discovered that my *****
was'nt just for *******
then came my dilemma
a valley ****** vexed
blod the bike from blaina
begging to be sexed
how'd you want it bloddwyn?
oooh!....ten inches would be nice
i counted for a minute....
then i shagged her twice
Mar 5, 2010
Mar 5, 2010 at 11:39 AM UTC
How does it feel?
To be a girl,
And to bleed,
Whenever we create
Something beautiful.
The dunce cap
Fills the void;
Where the crown should be.
Life grew
And fed, from these *******
Now ripped apart,
Pieces of shame.
Judas’s Cradle,
Destroyed our flesh.
Left us humiliated,
Like Lady Godiva
Hours of ******
From impalement
In spite of Eve
Whom bit the apple.
Hot irons,
Through vitality’s tunnel
To fallow the holy book,
The Malleus Maleficarum.
Confession induced stoning
Drowning, burning
Just to be whipped like animals
For social bonding.
The battles of power
With the entertainment of ****
Still two Hundred years of
Forced sterilization.
A pear of anguish,
For the miscarriages
A coffin,
For the son.
Who can be civil?
When survival
Even today,
Is about exploitation.
A dowry for obstetric fistula,
In Pakistan.
Under the union of god’s will,
Of course.
The ****** test
Out lives the Bison,
Only still being bred
For the hunt
Mutilation for those,
In Southern Sahara.
Huge abscesses,
To cover the curse.
The breaking wheel
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 9:21 PM UTC
WHY should not old men be mad?
Some have known a likely lad
That had a sound fly-fisher's wrist
Turn to a drunken journalist;
A girl that knew all Dante once
Live to bear children to a dunce;
A Helen of social welfare dream,
Climb on a wagonette to scream.
Some think it a matter of course that chance
Should starve good men and bad advance,
That if their neighbours figured plain,
As though upon a lighted screen,
No single story would they find
Of an unbroken happy mind,
A finish worthy of the start.
Young men know nothing of this sort,
Observant old men know it well;
And when they know what old books tell
And that no better can be had,
Know why an old man should be mad.
2.1k
“Do not grab me”
“She has done it again,
You have got to agree
She is a pain.”
The little pink toothbrush
Moaning about the way it’s treated
In the mad morning rush
Till the cleaning session’s completed.
“Pick me up gently, that is it
Now squeeze the paste”
“Too much, too much, just a bit
Oh my life, what a waste.”
The little pink toothbrush is a fed up
He wants to be looked after lovingly
From when he comes out of his cup
Which is fair comment to some degree.
“In the mouth we go,
Always the same molar
Now woman brush to and fro
No, no, wrong, I’m trying to control you.
“Up and down, not like a yard brush
Gently, we have to do it gently
It is not some major rush
Do it differently.
Do human beings know?
Do they actually care?
Is their brain like pastry dough?
Is it even there?
If I have thought it once,
I’ve thought it a million times a day
She must be a dunce
And that is all I can say.
Rinse woman , rinse me
Under the sparkling spray
Oh no don’t dip me in your cup of tea
I’ll be yellow and smelly all day.”
Does she not know I have needs
Not know how to treat me nice
It is like she succeeds
I have to think everything twice.
“And don’t throw me
Put me gently back in my place
And I’m covered in tea
Pity it’s not on your face.”
Look soap, look everyone what she does
Treats me like a scrubbing brush
And she does it because
She is always in a rush!”
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
“Do not grab me”
“She has done it again,
You have got to agree
She is a pain.”
The little pink toothbrush
Moaning about the way it’s treated
In the mad morning rush
Till the cleaning session’s completed.
“Pick me up gently, that is it
Now squeeze the paste”
“Too much, too much, just a bit
Oh my life, what a waste.”
The little pink toothbrush is a fed up
He wants to be looked after lovingly
From when he comes out of his cup
Which is fair comment to some degree.
“In the mouth we go,
Always the same molar
Now woman brush to and fro
No, no, wrong, I’m trying to control you.
“Up and down, not like a yard brush
Gently, we have to do it gently
It is not some major rush
Do it differently.
Do human beings know?
Do they actually care?
Is their brain like pastry dough?
Is it even there?
If I have thought it once,
I’ve thought it a million times a day
She must be a dunce
And that is all I can say.
Rinse woman , rinse me
Under the sparkling spray
Oh no don’t dip me in your cup of tea
I’ll be yellow and smelly all day.”
Does she not know I have needs
Not know how to treat me nice
It is like she succeeds
I have to think everything twice.
“And don’t throw me
Put me gently back in my place
And I’m covered in tea
Pity it’s not on your face.”
Look soap, look everyone what she does
Treats me like a scrubbing brush
And she does it because
She is always in a rush!”
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
a snowman eraser smiles at me
smug, despite the pencil end shoved
elsewhere....
it's hard to believe that jolly lie
especially when delievered by
office supplies.
silence presents a focus
problem.
there's space to echo
clicks, slides and bangs from
a cliche school hall-
a distracting balm for
productivity.
the number of cups
of coffee I've
forced past my lips
does not add vigor to
my smile
no matter how much
it may taste of
synthetic vanilla.
I want to smash
this apple across
the knees of my employment.
since floricide is not
an option, I instead crawl
to the corner
and cower under my
dunce's hat,
and just wait
til the bell rings.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 12:49 PM UTC
Can't you feel my screaming heart?
I feel all yours and it's unbearable
To know everyone's intention may seem ineffable
Though my passion is emotion and empathy my art
Dwelling silent in a crowded room
To the right a pursuit of lust
And my left a lack of trust
Empty grins with their facade and doom
Another item has been stolen
My peers in an unknowing uproar
I see the culprits guilt pour
From his weary eye and coven
The ***** swoons the love of an unworthy patron
She gazes at me with a tempting question
Attempting to construct my envy and affection
My will is stronger than that seducing notion
The lonely man makes a joking inquisition
All the rest see it as a laughable gesture
I look with sad eyes to see his slouching posture
He wants to die in his pathetic position
The muscle bound dunce smacks his lips
Glorified as the acrobatic conversationalist
Strapped men in shackles and girls can't resist
His compensated shortage of yays and yips
A quiet smile looks on with a perfect mask
Playing pretend with an inglorious burden
Faking a life inside of her chaotic garden
Of hollow theatrics in which she basks
There goes the lad with his flippy hair
The little ladies want a picture with the fellow
Oh you're so rad the flocking lasses bellow
And, you wonder why I don't seem to care?
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 10:07 AM UTC
all my stop signs
are draped with pearl necklaces
and my headlights
caress wounded kittens
i am the dunce
carusading thru the blues
the moon is emblazoned
with indignation over
crowds of unemployed people
(nodody notices the white elephant)
stealing
the hacksaw, the cookies, and all the money
i saved for a haircut
all in all, a ***** is
hitchhiking toward a pontiac
in the desperate desert sun
counting
his thumbs with a switchblade
"anything temporary can be used for money reasons"
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 9:02 PM UTC
To and fro as the saying goes
As the afros chase rainbows in search of gold
And the money's ****** dry, 'till the rich only supply
Ways to the make the poor poorer & keep the crackheads high
Then we overdose on sighs that all come at once
The teachers so underpaid that we're soon led by the dunce
And the market's like the breakers of the sea, it just crashes
The 99 sinking in ships while the one percent dashes
We find the dream of the US tainted green
Or to put it correctly, it has been tainted greed
With the day to day in ways that leads to the end
With a knife in your back while they pat it like your friend
So reliance on defiance is the key so defy
All the brainwash and the violence, raise you hands to the sky
And live
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 2:53 PM UTC
Beyond dilation scuttle eyed pin hole magnetic stigmata
I swear if you rub red the right way it scores points with the Almighty
Crystalized She used to run around with ***** fingers
She was made in a bathtub
Towhead floating face up
Like a deep breath doll laugh goodnight
I'm balanced hypodermic in the chamber
Reading from the black stenciled numbers 100cc
Here is the end's beginning
A brand new case of rigs
She's dancing on the counter
Dancing in my head
She's won't let me sleep
And my dreams become electric
25% oxygen not counting waste
Or the tingle on the back of my throat
25 seconds until we reach the half life Wear the dunce hat.
Bruised arms
and a 90% isopropyl bath
Two weeks non sleep
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 8:56 AM UTC
Nothing can ever happen twice.
In consequence, the sorry fact is
that we arrive here improvised
and leave without the chance to practice.
Even if there is no one dumber,
if you're the planet's biggest dunce,
you can't repeat the class in summer:
this course is only offered once.
No day copies yesterday,
no two nights will teach what bliss is
in precisely the same way,
with exactly the same kisses.
One day, perhaps, some idle tongue
mentions your name by accident:
I feel as if a rose were flung
into the room, all hue and scent.
The next day, though you're here with me,
I can't help looking at the clock:
A rose? A rose? What could that be?
Is it a flower or a rock?
Why do we treat the fleeting day
with so much needless fear and sorrow?
It's in its nature not to stay:
Today is always gone tomorrow.
With smiles and kisses, we prefer
to seek accord beneath our star,
although we're different (we concur)
just as two drops of water are.
Wisława Szymborska (translated from polish by Stanisław Barańczak)
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
Is it my counter-counterclockwise
mind wasting time? Elbows
on the dining table pulling my angel
hair into grid-like times tables.
I’m invested in this non-conversation
table. Ich liebe dich, mein Freund.
I’ve got commitment issues and four-ply
tissues for when my eye lashes start
peeling apart. My grandpa died in 2005
and I’m all but over it. I’m holding
his kite string, but the reel is almost done,
like VHS tapes rewound then fast-forwarded
to the good times. Power Ranger birthday
and everyone’s wearing dunce caps
with elastic chin straps ‘til they snap.
Snap! Snap! Snap me back to three-years-old,
and I’m singing in a Robin costume
‘cause I knew I’d always be second best.
I had an identity crisis around fourteen,
so I stopped buying sunglasses
because I found myself in other
peoples’ shadows. But now the only shadows
they’re casting are the ones from their headstones
and from the fields of flowers cradling
them like they once cradled me.
Fast-forward, I’m genuflecting in gym shorts
before myself in a mirror smudged with plum
felt. And I seem small compared to my life
spelled out in Expo marker markings.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 9:31 PM UTC
I'm sure you're out there hating all that I have become,
Cursing me and memories of all the things I've done.
I'm sure you're out there wallowing in the depths of I-don't-care-where,
I'm even sure you're chanting that all of it was unfair.
And while I don't feel I owe you a single wasted breath,
Allow me now to tell you how I came to bring you death:
As your lapdog I felt compelled to take you in my jaws,
And as your partner I was shackled by all those grueling laws.
As your master I was bored by every tear you ever shed,
But as your killer I was tickled by just how much you bled.
Can you see it now--should sight allow--what I never could foresee?
That only once, my tortured dunce, could you bleed enough for me.
I may spot you in the ether of the world not quite our own,
And you may ache to see that I have found myself alone.
However...
I've taken many others in the time that you've been gone;
Many who have served me well, so very few withdrawn.
These things aren't said to anger you, but just to give me peace.
I truly hate to plague my mind when my property decease.
Whatever.
As a mistress I was driven to see you beneath my boot,
And as an equal you were never intellectually astute.
As a servant you were lacking in the class that I demand,
And as a pet you oft ignored the rule of the feeding hand.
Through it all--'tween rise and fall--there was the alpha-sin, you see,
Because, darling, though I love you so, you didn't bleed enough for me.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 2:16 AM UTC
I want to be appreciated
I want to be adored
I want to know that when I speak
My words are not ignored
I'm sick of how I'm treated
I'm sick of being put down
I'm sick of working hard all day
For nothing but a frown
I need to feel important
Maybe just this once
I need to know in someone's head
I'm more than just a dunce.
I know that I deserve more
I know I'm treated wrong
But I know no matter what they do
I'll continue to play along
I wish I could be better
I wish that they could see
All the things that I have worked for
And earned the right to be
Why can't it ever be enough
Why can't I just win
Why can't I feel like just this once
It was worth it to begin
Maybe things will never change
Maybe you just are what you are
It might just be my fate to know
That I will never be a star.
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 1:31 PM UTC
“Do not grab me”
“She has done it again,
You have got to agree
She is a pain.”
The little pink toothbrush
Moaning about the way it’s treated
In the mad morning rush
Till the cleaning session’s completed.
“Pick me up gently, that is it
Now squeeze the paste”
“Too much, too much, just a bit
Oh my life, what a waste.”
The little pink toothbrush is a fed up
He wants to be looked after lovingly
From when he comes out of his cup
Which is fair comment to some degree.
“In the mouth we go,
Always the same molar
Now woman brush to and fro
No, no, wrong, I’m trying to control you.
“Up and down, not like a yard brush
Gently, we have to do it gently
It is not some major rush
Do it differently.
Do human beings know?
Do they actually care?
Is their brain like pastry dough?
Is it even there?
If I have thought it once,
I’ve thought it a million times a day
She must be a dunce
And that is all I can say.
Rinse woman , rinse me
Under the sparkling spray
Oh no don’t dip me in your cup of tea
I’ll be yellow and smelly all day.”
Does she not know I have needs
Not know how to treat me nice
It is like she succeeds
I have to think everything twice.
“And don’t throw me
Put me gently back in my place
And I’m covered in tea
Pity it’s not on your face.”
Look soap, look everyone what she does
Treats me like a scrubbing brush
And she does it because
She is always in a rush!”
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 2:53 AM UTC