"evaluations" poems
Writer's block again,
and from return; my heart descends.
A knock, at the door?
What are they here for?
Hiding in the floors, the deaths
of my enemies,
a funeral of my thoughts,
and they were meant to stay away.
Yet you wished them here,
just so you can write them.
And they want you near,
so you can recite them.
Insightful, isn't it?
You need to invite them in,
and this time; they'll only stay
for the titles and poetry, no.
You're much too confident
that you can kick them out,
you need them;
and they want you.
Next evacuation;
hopefully you'll choose
yourself,
but we know you never
do-
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 11:21 PM UTC
My nights consist of falling apart
On a daily basis
That’s according to my thesis
On my own self evaluations
Keep getting caught in bad situations
This is an invitation
To not feel okay
Sometimes you just need to cry
Let it all out
In a form of sentences
Trying to express your emotion
What’s holding you down promoted
To this cause I am devoted
Left vulnerable and open
Bleeding and broken
©2018 Written By Benji James
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 7:54 AM UTC
A first exclamation
Is it an approximation?
Of my imagination
Spoken determination
We are all in delusion
Sinking possibilities
Acting on this activation
A brain improvisation
A flowing dedication
Mounted city destination
Lacking in co-operation
Mounted evaluations
Investing the cognition
Is not the only direction?
Embracing the investigation
My convergence recruitment
Not even words uncovers
The layered entrenchment
Sunken lost in introversion
A day dream of absolution
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 12:31 PM UTC
Flickering indistinctly, like the last reel
of an early silent film,
these blurry shadows of windblown leaves
project themselves into
the corners of this simple room.
Inside my mind is another room, lit by intuition.
It is here that possibilities are delicately considered,
weighed, ever so gently, for their potential as eventuality.
This is not to say that my heart never holds sway
in these measured evaluations.
Oh, yes. It does win, from time to time.
Life is just sweeter, I have found, when peace reigns
between these two old friends, and a mutual accord is reached.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 9:30 PM UTC
Walking, but just carried
One, five, another
Ignoring the background whispers
And the words of my mother
Passing another, without recognition
I will climb every mountain
I'll never ask for permission
Results accurately display the current conditions
Intentions can be questioned
Scan this place for a moment
Non-action is non-action
No claim to submission
Game time, now own it
Integrity is not my invention
Present, direct attention
To the clouds, over the other direction
Blood boils like classic convention
I'll say that reality is wrong, dreams are for real.
Keep bending corners on life-warranted wheels
Great minds, start thinking, change can be real
Come to inside various naked walls, situations
Schedule those ineffective, biased evaluations
Go to a poor country, try to survive some starvation.
How does a heavy nose remain at high elevation?
Passion, giddy with six-digit dedication?
Scan this for a moment
Respect is earned,
Those hands are too small to hold it
Infinite efforts to label and mold it
Unfit to claim it or fold it
This world is the world's world
Karma visited them.
Who thought they sold it.
History repeats itself
Who wrote it?
Who told it?
Apparently Texas thinks they can own it.
But my world has an afterglow
This is not the crest smile
Or the beat of this flow
It's the pursuit of happiness
Growth, searching high
And searching low
Learning to be learning
And learning how to know
Finding love
Lessons, how to show
To keep the richer, better things
Life's breeze, endurance as my life's seams
To live, yes, but forever to dream.
I'll enjoy this reality scene.
vi.xxi.xi
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 6:27 AM UTC
I've slept for two days minus some hours I went out to buy cat food
Today I went to the pool in the rain, and chugged along back and forth
out of breath, encased in a partial wetsuit, watching the water steam at
times, and then glitter, with bright designs as the sun came out for a moment
And I return home to a monumental mess.
Somehow it just didn't matter, this mess as I struggled at work, fighting
a lame diagnosis that "you are just too anxious for this job because you get nervous
before evaluations" from a man easily as anxious as I am, but much less aware of it
The work rained down on me like a waterfall, and I couldn't stay dry
Weekends gave way to endless work sessions and some sleep
Suddenly, as if for the first time, I see how much paper is strewn on the floor,
arranged by cats who inhabit this place far more than I do.
The piles of unsorted things I would "get to on vacation" are now
there, waiting to be gotten to.
It's clear I am one who values work above housekeeping and the happiness of the
little creatures who inhabit my world before order.
And that's just fine with me.
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 6:49 PM UTC
Drooling from pharmaceuticals,
and being told what's beautiful.
Recklessly using our mandibles,
and idolizing party animals.
No time to get personal,
Cuz I must go out and buy the product being scammed on this commercial.
Back.
Intelligence being blinded by fear,
So many don't pay mind, too full of beer
and confused why they can't see clear,
or even eye to eye with their closest peer.
Time spent pointing fingers
and wondering why "bad luck" lingers.
A society high on measurements and value measured by possessions.
The "Iwant" society diseased with obsessions.
Sold opinions with television and magazines,
Never realizing the atrocities behind the scenes.
More psych evaluations and pills to swallow,
Or open love connections and spirituality to follow?
Many homeless, while uninhabited homes shows a higher amount.
Pop-culture won't show ya, can the counter-culture even count?
Fatty fast food paired with fast athletes, just to get a meager billion some dollars.
There's still time to change though, which is why we need to bother.
Too cheap to buy selfless items, well then at least pay attention.
See me for clarity, there's a wealth of info I didn't mention.
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 6:14 PM UTC
Allow 3 seconds,
to enter,
ignore him for he is nobody really,
the sun has not yet risen,
the stairs or the lift?
These are the choices you make,
20 calories per floor,
How long do you want this?
chose your story,
Your rib-cage molests your skin nest,
You are not the youngest,
face reality,
What have you achieved lately?
Be present in the moment,
Do not fail emotionally,
Keep on fighting in spite of being wounded,
Your bi-yearly evaluations have been consistent,
This is to be applauded in light of your recent health troubles,
Some things are clear to the naked eye,
It pleases us immensely that you have decided to stay with the organisation,
However, please adhere to company guidelines regarding the dress code,
If the train is late so much you should consider driving,
Bake a cake for the cake sale,
Your colleagues are all here to support you,
We are organising a departmental night out on Friday, attendance is mandatory,
Consider working extra time in order to clear the backlog,
Breaks are to be restricted to 15 minutes,
Ensure the correct status is inputted,
Give us everything you have,
You are our company.
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 12:52 PM UTC
♪ ♩ ♫ ♬♪ ♪ ♩ ♫
[for Snare Drum]
Client-centered, data-driven,
yet their sins are unforgiven.
Tweaking the assessment standard
while the Word of God is slandered.
Current practice (science-based)
meanwhile, souls are laid to waste.
Evidence-based evaluations
fail to stall abominations.
Power slideshows, bullet-pointed
bypass Christ, the Lord’s anointed.
Titled expert: talking wraith,
buzzword-based, devoid of faith.
Sources cited, praxis theorized.
Mankind’s plight ignored, unrealized.
Humankind enthroned, enshrined,
entombed in shadows yet unshined.
Branding, marketing, organized crime:
brother – can you spare a paradigm?
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 6:21 PM UTC
Someone told me,
To water my own grass,
But what they neglected to mention,
Is that my grass is crass.
This is due to my unfortunate past,
Every minute spent kissing ***
To be walked on and trampled by,
Boots and heels of brass.
So no, I will most certainly not,
Water my own grass,
The thoughts and evaluations,
Of the judgment I pass,
Is necessary and voluntary,
In a sea of largemouth bass.
Oct 22, 2023
Oct 22, 2023 at 9:46 PM UTC
The storm rages wild outside the window
But with you in the room, my breath seems to slow
Till my fears brought on by the thunderbolts
Are not very much
Not even a little
Not even at all.
The glare on the wine glass from the glow of the fire
Warming me up from the inside and the bits of exposed skin
Till the chill from the wind
Is not very much
Not even a little
Not even at all.
As pleasant conversations turn to unspoken evaluations
Your eyes start to smolder
Till the space between our fingers
Is not very much
Not even a little
Not even at all.
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 4:15 PM UTC
You are here so close to me
Sitting next, but No I can't see
I thought about us a lot
We were in the same boat
Lots of promises and expectations
Now only lessons and self evaluations
But no regrets yet
Such wonderful time we had
Present is not the right time for us
You are far shinier and way brighter
I am rusted and need an understanding
Re-polish myself and fix my wings
And one-day, God, maybe one-day
Could you give me one more chance to look at you and say
Within you there is something very very true
God, the most beautiful person I know is you.
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 5:56 AM UTC
Arnold my dearest friend was 82
his soul has made a transition
through sands and vast oceans
to another dimensional paradise
he was chatty and I quiet
he was white and I black
he was old and I young
he was a man and I a woman
bonded with zest and humour
Arnold was strict and perfect
we met at local debating club
where we polished speeches
the little gems of impromptu
and the daunted evaluations
charming and complimentary
with an adventurous heart
and the pleasing easy spirit
of playfulness and success
Arnold and his plentiful gang
of competitive read speakers
always told me to slow down
I was a post-graduate trainee
wanting to brush my confidence
way back then when I stumbled
on that working men club
in the company of grey hairs
organised in eventful committees
Arnold saw roles changed
when after five long years
I was an elected president
the transformation of time
following radio interviews
back then when career drove
the foundations of many blocks
of habitual repetition and sweat
of sifting grime from the fire
Arnold always warmed up to me
kissed me on the rosy cheek
he changed cars like clothes
and loved his dearly wife to bits
he has left a scent around my life
of a hope to love and build family
an ardent piano player and traveller
no wonder that church was so full
abundant with fond memories
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 12:05 PM UTC
i met a mongol once in amsterdam, we exchanged a tearful stare and said a melancholic hello, as if we were to be brother in cement or sandstone of what the sun rememebred and man forgot but nonetheless carved for enshadowed suave of the shadowing hand on hand upon handed down remnant of the handless kanji... the motherless thus tongueless river of sight utilising hand and hand as sophistication of spying thanks to the hands’ shadows: thus no shadow tongue unless that shadow be thought or the abstract off thought: pre-meditation and the subsequent minded courtsey as requested of the blank page or the buddha’s slitted eyes faking intoxication by western standards of that green plant the mongols despise: and western societies fare to tax and thus exploit.
and it would be easiest to withhold making talks
with the slavs
by compensation of the northern-most mosque
being established
as true progression...
but then having insulated the slavs
who are "primarily" plumbers and electricians
to make any dent in the politics of the other monotheists...
where the european excludes the european from europe
there you will see war as encouraging the asian
or the arab...
there you will see war, should a
european exclude european from europe
there you will see war
caucausian againts the rooster against the morn!
TAR TAR! TAR TAR! TAR! TAR!
(in japanese tora tora tora!)
because you did not cherish our shared values
thus become devalued therefore value your integral anti-economic
evaluations that have no place in my land
but concern of keeping brown in the noun and not in the verb
of racism and sun;
i've become a barabbas among you, you messiahs,
you messiah selfies and messiah implants,
what gave you the jews scorned has given
me you as the "jews" scorned in your disorientation
of the fathomed atom bomb already spoken of in
the book of the apocalypse....
but a man ejecting an european from europe
to fantacise a non-invoked colonialism will halve in carving
this world in half for multi-cultarism!
no pole ever spoke of colonialism to see you speak
of post-colonial re-colonialisation of remote areas so ardently cared for:
conquer... and subsequently fall: your sons the additive bullets:
я и pоссия demand: the caucaucus tribes to
fake unity with the danube fools of erected bohemia.
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 11:35 PM UTC
I sat there in his office, for our first formal meeting and
I thought: what a strange little man
and I thought: thoughts are private, he can't know
but I've no poker face, so as I watched him look at me silently
I was eyeing him like a stained onion under a microscope
Look at the cell wall, the keys dangling from the faded Dockers from 1982
the pale hands with the small sausage fingers
everyone talked about his hands and those small fingers
that would gesticulate and pontificate and annunciate his power over us
He walked from his desk to the table, and it seemed like it took ten steps
and he became smaller with every stride, in the faded wrinkled shirt, made of flannel
like a used bed sheet
there is the nucleus, the papers in his hand I thought and his faded green eyes darted
over at me, and he knew, he could feel it, he knew I thought he was a dork
At last he settled down at the table and I joined him and the sausage fingers
of power shuffled through my evaluations, which were good
before he had that grudge, nursed over the summer
before he let it sink in that he was never good enough in my eyes
that he was always dissapointing me
I would walk to him, like trying to buy good organic food at a seven eleven
and wondering why every time, it wasn't there
He knew he couldn't do anything right in my eyes
He wasn't up to my challenge
I didn't know that he knew
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 5:21 PM UTC
intelligence is wasted on
an obedience within a
geometric of a square...
no point keeping social
assurances; about time someone
got so drunk they'd recall
having a grandmother
in quotable citation -
to express the evaluations
of values theorised but never practised.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 9:52 PM UTC
if art is to survive the rich have to remember the
concept of patronage,
but like all the rich with the pope included
they think patronage equates itself to philanthropy,
but not all the poor can provide escapism with a sistine chapel,
patronage patronage patronage...
god, i’m sounding just like anthony blair
giving children almost free education
and the afghanistan / iraq wars... you know that
famous slogan: educationeducationeducation...
yeah, let’s juggle those idiots for the conveyor belt of our whims...
otherwise self-promotion will take over without patronage
and with self-promotion we’ll have absolutely no original content...
just a lot of people in queues shuffling through with elbows tearing
feathers for “the golden manuscript,” “the goldmine of applause!”
without patronage you only have patronising content of a work,
that’s the evidence: no patronage = patronising evaluations;
but then again we’re talking about people wanting free art,
which means that everyone can become a self-righteous artist
and no art will leave the high school art class rooms,
while “true” artist will require large open spaces,
coat hangers, toilets, mummified plastic sharks, mannequins
in ***** poses... and added space
for thought... don’t know where the added space for thought
will come from, given thought itself is the added space...
i guess we’ll need to cross-reference timing that space with ooh, ah,
hmm, what do you think about this piece?
‘can i smash it to pieces?’
wow... so innovative! so original! what would you call it?
‘pisces in a herring swarm of ***********
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 5:19 AM UTC
Morning coffee percolates
beneath my weary eyelids,
as my flesh angrily screams
for its daily stimulant;
scents of French Vanilla
permeate and freshen
the staleness of my kitchen.
Evaluations of the new day
will have to wait until my cup
has been completely emptied...
of its liquid gold.
Joseph J. Breunig 3rd
September 2012
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 9:45 AM UTC
(Boys) aren’t supposed to have feelings
Wait
Why cant boys have feelings too
I can’t tell you how I feel if you (feel) like my feelings don’t matter
I feel like I’ve won, I feel happy, I feel proud of myself
I tell you that I feel your beautiful radiance
You say that you fell I think others are beautiful too
Yes, people are beautiful but I’m more delighted by you
Ive fallen in love before but neither time was as great as you
Still you would ask whats the difference between them and you
I feel like i'm disappointing everyone around me, including you
Like when I give myself evaluations, I ask myself whats attracting you
Because I still feel (worthless)
But boys aren’t supposed to think too hard
Just wait a second
Why cant boys think about things too
I think I have nothing to offer, I think people really never cared, I think I’m full of imperfections, I think I hold people up too much, I think people hold me down too much, I think I think too much
I think people don’t get it
I don’t think that they think enough
I guess you're right, girls think too much and boys not enough
But how can you explain to the boys that drink too much
(Because no one is around) to hear their thoughts
So they pour them in cups, luckily I have poetry so I can write when I think too much
And sometimes my eyes cry too much, sometimes my fingers shake too much, sometimes my head falls on a shoulder (that cares enough) to lend me the comfort I need when I fell I think too much
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC
9 to 5
Meetings
Lectures
Writings
Reports
Briefings
Presentations
Events
Functions
Exams
Evaluations
Reports again...
Lost my laughing lines
Poetries my escapism...
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 10:27 PM UTC
-
i can just imagine how things would
end up, me being a little more than
hesitant to even consider vocalizing
myself "Live" to dozens of listeners
—_me_—
starting out on a platform in some school
gymnasium just a short million miles away
from the safety of my writing cubical deep
inside a worm hole underneath my domicile
im sure that a few in the crowd will wonder
what this _thing_ is doing there, my thin, shaky
form walking erratically to center stage with a
tablet in one hand and a cup of water in the other—
well, it could be *****
the microphone will be way too big for
what little i have to say, commencing
with an unsteady vocal that many will find
indistinguishable from man or woman,
the rhythm should get better after the first
of several stanzas, but i will have already
spotted the ombudsman standing near the
emergency exit listening in—
just as i feared,
_and as our eyes meet, his expectation
of structure and rigidity will boil me
down to the hardwood floor, reducing
me to the basic size of a Cornish hen,
spun lengthwise upon his rotisserie,
roasting away as a smoldering torso
from his slow hand-cranked rotations
over the campfire which he will light his
cigarettes from, leaving me choking
from the smoke of his evaluations
as i drip into the cinders and
evaporate along with most
of my self ~esteem.._
i realize that he'll just be some ghost
that has haunted my every attempt
at simple boldness,
but i know he is gonna be right there
if i ever climb up to laser like stares
and the wide-open ~hears~ of
kindred poets and curious ears,
an easy fellow to pick out—
he will be the one
holding my neck
in his hands...
s jones
2008-2020
.
Dec 12, 2020
Dec 12, 2020 at 8:34 AM UTC
He's not a wolf, but only a mouse now
the man who yelled at me for crying when
I knew he was nailing my coffin with bad evaluations
and planting the seeds of God knows what and what are
they thinking and what are they going to do next to me and nothing makes sense
but he hurries by like his tail is on fire and he doesn't look so scary anymore
but just kind of strange and I wanted him to like and respect me
and give me this kind of good feeling about myself
but now he's just wearing a black nylon jacket and
looking nervous and small and furtive
and I wonder why he ever made me so frightened
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 8:18 PM UTC
What a weird sight,
on the other end of Nokia's snake.
Trapped in a car between 9th and 28th from north to south,
for a wild troop of humans.
What's a 10k, if we boil it down to biology?
There's nothing **** here,
no reproductive purposes.
Still, 55 thousand people line up and run 10k,
maybe to prove they can.
Like the way we collect guns,
or write poetry,
or hit our children,
or eat deer.
We prove to ourselves we're half animal still.
Archaic is a word
we're yet to learn
on our job evaluations.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 2:22 AM UTC
I’m in a psychology class and as part of it we filled out several, detailed, personality evaluations. They said these were helpful in forming a psychological profile of the freshmen classes each year and of particular interest were these COVID years.
The professor said she’d be available, before finals, to review them with us if we were interested - and I volunteered. So in our review we’re going over my results and she says: “Your trauma history could produce this constellation of wit, wiriness and attachment-anxiety.”
I flinch, irritably, thinking, my “trauma history?” What, “trauma history?” Wondering if - maybe the professor was looking at the wrong paper?
She read my reaction and the consternation on my face, started flipping through the papers, and said, “According to the history you submitted, your father was killed when you were seven and you were hospitalized for...”
*** I thought, blanking out what she was saying, “How could I have forgotten THAT?” Even for a moment. Then I sag with this oppressive, blanket-like wave of guilt at having put the crash so far out of my mind.
“The dismissal of childhood trauma is quite normal,” she said, putting her hand on my arm, “You have to put trauma out of your everyday thoughts - to get on with your life.” She assured me. “It’s quite normal.”
How many blind sides do I have? I wondered
Dec 23, 2021
Dec 23, 2021 at 11:28 AM UTC
This poem is more for those that actually know me, as some of the things are of my personality directly.
For those that know me,
my father was never around.
No big deal, life happens.
For those that know,
I've had my fair share of abusive step dads.
no big deal, life happens.
But really messes with my head,
is all the stories that I hear about my father.
I say these stories mess with me,
because every insight I hear,
is reflected in my own personality.
Without even being near me,
genetics dictated that some of his best and worst characteristics
have infected my own self.
We are talking about a man
afraid of commitment
constantly plagued by guilt, insecurity
an inability to connect with others consistently
or, at the very least, a lack of willingness to make those connections
very, very private about pain
who simply refuses to let people in
forced to the point of suicide attempts
mental health evaluations by doctors
talks out the side of his mouth
knees and ankles always on the verge of busting
has two sides to him, one caring compassionate,
but the other often dominates interaction
....
but who are we actually talking about with those distinctions?
Me or him?
To give him credit that frankly, some people don't think he deserves,
he didn't have the best life.
But this is going to list even more similarities.
Abusive step dad? Check.
Awful childhood traumas? Check.
Having to grow up too fast? Check.
Too much responsibility, too early? Check.
Lack of positive parent influence? Check.
Tested at genius level IQ? Check.
Considered loaded with potential? Check.
He never made anything of it,
the shackles of his mind weighed him down too much,
so is that the point where we continue to share characteristics
or where I finally diverge and break that mold?
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 12:37 AM UTC