"mismanaged" poems
My Bipolar Disorder is a stout-bodied mammal with horns and cloven hooves.
There are two types of My Bipolar Disorder:
Domestic, and Mountain.
My Bipolar disorder typically spends its days grazing on grasses
My Bipolar Disorder will dig depressions in the ground to sleep, rest, and bathe in.
My Bipolar disorder is super social during the winter, and tends to go solo during the summer.
My Bipolar Disorders tail usually points up! (Unless it is frightened or sick)
My Bipolar Disorder is extremely Curious and Intelligent.
Once My bipolar disorder has discovered a weakness in its fence, it will exploit it repeatedly.
There are over 300 distinct breeds of My Bipolar Disorder.
Within' minutes of being born, my Bipolar Disorder is up and walking around.
My bipolar disorder used to live in the white house with Abraham Lincoln.
One day an ethiopian Herder walked in on My Bipolar Disorder liteally bouncing off of cliff walls because it just Discovered Coffee.
My Bipolar Disorder has four stomachs
The horns of My Bipolar Disorder are typically removed to reduce injury to humans.
My Bipolar disorder will explore anything new or unfamiliar in its surroundings, mainly with its mouth and tongue.
My bipolar disorder readily reverts to the wild if given the opportunity.
My Bipolar Disorder is more susceptible to Parasites and other infectious diseases when it is mismanaged.
My bipolar disorder has had a lingering connection with Satanism and pagan religions
My Bipolar Disorder is considered a "clean" animal by jewish dietary laws.
According to Zeus
As long as you leave it's bones whole,
My Bipolar disorder will keep coming back to life.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 1:19 PM UTC
All our country's taxpayers are becoming enraged
Bailing out companies which have been mismanaged
Countless millions have been forked out
Dollar amounts which are exceptionally stout
Ever the taxpayer is called upon to cough up
Filling the always depleted company's cup
Giving generously has got to cease pretty soon
Helping them is a cost that's gone well beyond the moon
Injecting our hard earned is too much
Just let them stand on their own crutch
Kick those CEO's into a reality check fashion
Let them not receive anymore of our kind ration
Money has been misspent by our former government
Never ending the out flow it's time for some abatement
Offer not another cent to those ailing companies
Propping them stresses the taxpayer's arteries
Questions must be asked about those per unit costs
Regularly increasing and so high are their imposts
Shores abroad can produce goods for lesser amounts
They run a more efficient book of accounts
Under a burgeoning payout us taxpayers are gripped
Vast savings we'd make if they were nipped
We've been supporting the big end of town for years
X marks the spot where we've been left in arrears
Yonder the companies can take their travails
Zilch is what they'll be receiving from our taxpayer bails
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 9:15 PM UTC
Emergent and forming I feel a storm is imploring that soon without any warning you beg to cross a line
Every time, nothing is sacred but sacramental complacence is marked as roles of the shameless
Mean to skip a line another time? Is this too rough and obtuse for a cutie like you to boost the power line?
Number 9, completion is power and stricken chords every hour proceed to timeline devour those daily entities
I do decree that opposition to me is free and withered beatings to meetings, detours and dealings
understanding demands of variable plans is held by the hand that feeds the depleted need
I see it from every angle, the tangle, the multishifted frame though it dangles, I can't be stuck in my own head when
I see the reflections of me in the treasure it jangles, brings into focus where my head fell to float in the
moments set to wrangle, pull it in, dwell upon the good and discard where it hampers new fangled notions like
truth effusions of love and devotion are swallowed up in the daily ocean of noise traffic, the more verbose,
Graphic dispatches matches blasted disasters dashed and rash past distractions amass magic attacks balanced
Secular motion entwined with metaphysical potions, divided what is your quotient? It doesn't add up in this
moment.
Interpersonal, intergalactic, universal assertions disturbed by verbage of outrance
Message mismanaged mischief mallaeble mayhem managed maganamously mallicous mannered when I
would proclaim them. Members materialized meriting masturbatory movements and monetized
malappropriation I have no patience nor pathos for indiscriminant egos demonstrating a tangent as canon and
paralyzing progressions toward psychic visions of heaven, eyes as the cosmos, and pressures upended.
I'll cope with associations disastrous and tainted, but keep in my visage all that scratches my lenses
I know far too much to be content with the situation, but far too little to shatter falsehood's intitiation
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 5:53 AM UTC
mismanaged prostitution
barbed wire kisses
telephone breathing
hands on white thighs
digging fingers
hardened
crows feet
crones cry
another drink
something hard to drown a sorrow
to **** a cigarrette in
lick my lips
taste my revulsion..
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 2:26 AM UTC
Who are the seers of this world?
Oftentimes, their perceived sense of safety is fenced-in by their very constraint.
Dare you be different in the age of minimalistic conformity?
On our own heads be it, my delicately-dancing friends of eggshell walkways.
Seasonal variance has already begun, despite our willful resistances.
In our perceived safety, we have mismanaged a nest of rich paupers.
But our administrative denunciations will crumble in the state which dwarfs individuals for the purposes of cultivating docile allegiances at a cost that no words could ever articulate.
Thank you, my postmodern travelers of continuum.
One more thing - have a good night.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
Houston woke up early. Yawning. A cigarette away from just packing his meager possessions and leaving everything this dusty room did not have to offer. A spark of zippo flame had his lungs drowning in chemical filth. Sometimes it felt good to get ***** Often enough now that he had forgotten what it felt like to be clean. The yellowed pages of his favorite books stared back at him in a mismanaged pile on his writing desk. What few thoughts he had managed to scripple out kept them company on crumpled napkins and ink stained pages.The sheets a sweaty twist around his pale form. He knew something had to give or he really was going to go over to Silvia's to just "talk" but do what he had been thinking about more often of late and drown her in the kitchen sink sloshing over with ***** dish water she never drained. Gods but that woman drove him crazy. The clanging of glass every time he took a step a testament to those emotions. All he could do to cope with the damage she had wrought was lose himself in a bottle. Any bottle would suffice but his favorite was spiced *** It used to burn going down but they had gotten so used to each other it was like old people having *** with the added bonus of actually reaching fulfillment. The company he had kept last night lay sadly on it's side next to his worn mattress. It's cap somewhere in the wreckage of Houston's hundred dollar a month room. He looked down at it and sighed, picking up the neck and now stale sips left in the bottom. He knew that this one swallow would only stoke the flames of his desire for more yet he could not help himself. Autopilot had taken control weeks ago. The glass on his lips was comforting but the not enough taste left on his tongue was sour. Today. Cracking of his spine echoed as he stretched. Today he was going to get revenge.
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 9:01 PM UTC
The past
Such a funny place to pay a visit
Also a scaring Heaven
travelling to it through pictures
Through diaries
Through experiences and conversations.
Wondering if today is that future
We were dreaming,
Planning and sharing
In the past.
An escortion to the past
Take us to the tears
Our unconguerd fears
Promises shared
Love felt
Friends we have left
Lessons failed to learn
And those learned
Mistakes made
Heart breaks
Joy that had faded
Repented pain
Smiles and broken fate
Sicknesses won
Our dead ones, our efforts couldn't save.
The cheers, the quarrels
Broken Commitments and understandings
The peace, the unrest
Sweet dreams, nightmares
Snub, ego and abused meekness
Hymns, dances and sadness
Lies discovered, truth untold
Folks turned foes, treasures sold
Hatred bared, relationships mismanaged
Sins forgiven
And those too hard to be forgotten
Loses and Crisis
Celebration that had ended
Glory that has been blinded
That giant step
That right choice
The chance
That luck
A great victory
records made, glorious history.
The rise, the fall
The frowns, the fun
Dews and twinkling sun
All in all
Travelling to the past
Is an adventure of mix feelings
Sour and sweet memories
Drilling and refreshing
Since it's where we are all coming from
It's a place we can't foregone
A place not too healthy to dwell
But a place we should always go to learn.
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC
§
Voices may be silenced,
heads may be severed.
Hearts may be infected,
and overwhelmed by hatred.
But love can never be overwhelmed.
Love can be censored, and enslaved,
and deranged, and mismanaged,
but never fully eliminated.
I would slash out at the fascists,
fire shots into the face of the tyrants,
but my arm has atrophied,
my eyes have glazed over,
my vision has dimmed to shadows.
If it were not for the love
I myself have already spread,
and for the love I carry, like a perfect parasite
clinging to my essence, like a loving tick,
I would already have quit.
If I could shout out my anger,
if I could give voice to the voicelessness
I would.
But all I have the energy to do
is to simply state,
that while my words do not ring out
from the shadows like they once did,
I am still here watching, and one day I will speak again.
I kiss and curse, and caress and slash, and sing for and spit at, all of you.
I love all of you.
I need some time alone, to refocus
my art, to stoke my anger, and distill my love.
I am stepping away,
for now,
but I will not run away,
I will return.
We live on through memories,
whether our own, or others.
Your memories linger upon my senses,
even as I pen these lines.
Even If I wanted to, I could
not, would not leave.
Calling what I feel for you
love,
is just applying a symbol
to something that is too powerful
to be defined.
My feeling for you all...
it transcends.
Jun 27, 2012
Jun 27, 2012 at 3:07 AM UTC
Sorry said the merry man, adjacent on his way,
I've gone and ticked you off while I've been out tramping today
And in my careless frolic I seem to have stole your heart
What brutal lust you blow towards me, gushing like a ****
But I'm not la-da-dee-da-dee, a manly bearded sprite
Jingle though my stirrups do like dormice held too tight
I'm a serious enterprise, a man deeply invested
In stacking stocks and picking prices, if you're interested?
She danced reluctantly to him, unnatured to the rhythm
But with a wink she start'd to slink and jim-jam along with him
The two then picked their sandals up and shuffled down the street
And drank and laughed amerrily at all they chanced to meet
To the bank they wandered, legislating they did go
In government, in finance, in high station to and fro
Each day they yawned and gargled on a fresh new tonic smell
And went on down the street to make a fresh mismanaged hell
Soon agiggling and adultering they fell down in a mess
Holes and tears ashaming his and her once modest dress
There they lay and blocked the road till bobby picked them up
And once they'd laughed their fill of him they bribed the greasy pup
He took them to the city square and let them borrow his hat
They gave out fines and sentences for being thin or fat
They stood on boxes, had ideas for rent for half a pence
And sat gracefully cross-eyed on the splintering picket fence
Then donned a mitre, did a dance, their pageantry displayed,
They became gods, just for a laugh, the vicarage dismayed
When down from heaven lightning bolts, shot with a holy hum
Came buzzing like a hornets' nest and shocked them on the ***
A **** of smoke, a whiff of cheese, the townsfolk breathed release
Gone at last those terrors past, they could return to peace
Then up from high a saintly sigh two angels billowed down
Golden halos greasy and no pants beneath their gown
The townsfolk wept and cried aloud, their stomachs plopped and churned
To see the pair of villains there, so gracefully returned
Blessed be the kingmakers the two of them agreed
Until next weekend, Duw my dear, and until then, God's speed.
Nov 28, 2020
Nov 28, 2020 at 10:00 AM UTC
Words tangle and turn to
mismanaged beliefs
that has paperwork flowing
out the mouths of those
trying to make sense of gibberish
that they fell asleep to while
hungover in their last year of schooling
while they spill the beans
silently with their eyes
because it is Chinese water
torture for the windshield even though
its not uttering a sound besides
soft steady ticks.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC
Raindrops plunk upon aluminum
siding and window sill
Outside, such turmoil,
yet I can only sit still
Swishing winds interrogate trees,
causing them to drop their leaves
and pretenses
Confessions of bareness
propagate an awareness
of little mismanaged defenses
This sullen Fall charms places between suburban track homes
Places where cornstalk bunching
settles for quaint decor
When in Rome...
how it never feels like here
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 2:20 AM UTC
I must hurry to the meeting
In the committee room,
We'll vote on closure
Of the heart,
Get back to work by noon.
All the players are present,
We're sitting side-by-side,
I'm next to an idiot,
Beside myself
With opinions that collide
Within myself,
About myself,
Infused with self,
I'm the chair of the meeting,
The only one in the room.
My many colored selfish life
Has left my heart forlorn.
We take a vote
To remove the chair,
His outlook
Is too biased;
He had a heart per diem,
Mismanaged in a poem.
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 9:05 AM UTC
election cycle returns
and the returns are in
no one gives a ****
about economic downturns
or pacific trade agreements
built to further gut
the Amerikkkan dream
Honey Boo-Boo lost eight pounds –
wingless welchers tirade over lost causes
causing the public to collectively *****
only racial injustice strikes cords
or the ever popular threat to children
outside of that, the general consensus
is to give the Dugger ******
a second chance –
guns for drugs
bombs fall on Bagdad
homosexual agenda
the imaginary scourge
melds with marijuana laws
giving the conservatives pause
but only until the Letterman finale –
sightless masses spoon fed by multimedia
millionaires
much maligned in the middle
misrepresented and mismanaged
mean well
but they have given over control
to the television set –
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
These seeds have taken me to an empty plot hole
A shattered *** bleeds where it's been swallowed
By the earth, so barren, scarred and mismanaged
Showing evidence of struggles and miscarriage
Dead trees left to crawl and sink
Crumble and stress the pressure pressed enough to turn them to ink
Dipped with the end of a quill taken from a broken wing
Used to write a suicide note you can harmonize and sing
And get a whole group in sync with you
Sit around a broken heart and have them think with you
Analyze every vein that turned dark and pumped pain
Wear your grief like a shirt and become the blood stain
Now get up off of that shelf
You're like a broken mirror when you look at yourself
You bonsai, your wilted branches weep
Discolored flowers, dead roots planted deep, just go to sleep
Mar 10, 2019
Mar 10, 2019 at 8:59 PM UTC
She’s gone to sleep
Again, as she
Often does, but
This time on a
Train. Maybe she
Dreams of distant
Isles, bright sunshine
Beaches, clothed in
A bright green, ***
Gripping, skimpy
Bikini and
Surrounded by
To die for men,
Or maybe she
Dreams of her first
Date, the bought for
Her flowers, the
Big box of chocs,
The quick given
Kisses and the
Mismanaged ****
Or perhaps she
Dreams of the lost
Baby and the
Last long hold, or
Maybe she dreams
Of her husband
Beating her up
As he often
Did and leaving
Her out in the
Midnight’s cold, or
Perhaps she dreams
All these dreams in
Disorderly
Sequence like some
Nightmare show, all
Mixed up, drawn out
And slow. She’s gone
To sleep in a
Train, full of dark
Sorrow as she
Often is, so
Maybe she’ll not
Wake up again.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
11 o'clock on a Friday evening
I walked through closed doors
Into the rustic old bar
I sat in the faded bar stool that creaked like the floorboards
on the stained seat cushion molded to fit my *** like a glove
From the regular nights
The bartender walked by twitching his mustache, cleaning an old mug
I slapped my hand on the tarnished bar
He nodded, filling a patchwork glass with the same old beer
That swished frothily in my mouth with the taste
Of old gym socks and dog ****
I stared into the mirror reflection before me
Examining people while sipping my taint of a beer
The waitress reciting play lines devotedly between orders
Still trying to get into her new life on Broadway
Stuffing tips in her mismanaged pockets
that wanted a college degree, but chose fancy clothes
A lawyer and a teacher in the corner of the room
No one likes drinking alone
Sitting in a battered, splattered seat booth
Lamenting about their dreaded work
Wishing in their heart of hearts
That the paths they had chosen at 19 were switched
One found he loved kids and one loved the justice system
If only it were simple to swap uniforms and degrees
Two destitute prostitutes lingering, smoking wispy cigs outside
Waiting for work
One wanted to be a dentist
Till the ****** that protected her dreams broke
And she lost her baby regardless
And the other wanted to be a politician
Until her dreams were beaten down by
A man, a level below Neanderthal, who viewed her body
As a conversation where his fists do the talking
The bartender stalled at the TV between drinks
Observing the young sports analyst on the TV
In a crisp, tailored suit with slick black hair
Nostalgically imagining himself talking emphatically about his passion
Mouthing the comments of what the analyst should've been saying
But he served drinks filled with faded dreams
And I turned and saw myself in the glossy mirror
Holding the poor excuse for a drink to my lips
And I saw the people around me like spirits in my eyes
I worked 9-5 in an office that’s as fun as feet being nailed to the ground
The only thing I changed in my routine whether I did my
Laundry on a Friday or Saturday
And I twitched my hand to ask for a different drink
But I kept it down and sipped on my beer
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
I've been drinking
It's outlandish how I have to
manage on this
mismanaged planet
and plan my life in this
**** land of sin I'm in
Like choking on cinnamon
More like spoons full of sugar got
Mary going down and popping medicine
So sick it makes you want to
hold shut your nose hole with a clothes pin
Air out your ***** laundry
Let the funk blow in the wind
then throw all your dreams away in a clothes bin.
Look at me
I'm sitting here faintly inebriated with this picture I've painted
Judging other people's vices..
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 1:42 PM UTC
My life is mismanaged
Try to catch up, think fast
Too slow.
I’m so far behind
I just caught a whiff of your ****
Two years late.
You smile, blink your eyes
And turn away
From the rumination
It’s hard to start something new.
It’s even harder
when your past breathes harder
Than your present.
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 4:35 PM UTC
Heads swimming, tail lights spinning out on back roads, heels ablaze, daze of feeling and complexity - context that governs harshly, danger that waits, disease that lingers, hides in hair and clothes and bedrooms and comes out to watch you sleep, eyes behind glass, whispers in the dark, so slow it hurts,
Strangers in passing, lovers in waiting, stoners and liars and thieves,
I didn't know what to make of this then, ghosts of autumn haunting cell block courtyards haunt minds mismanaged and clouds of smoke, dangerous things that live here and don't pay rent,
5 chimes on a bell tower,
5 warning signs for 5 years,
5 roads traffic jammed to 5 kids funerals dead this year from 5 needles, one pricked vein is all it takes to collapse an empire of ego,
I remember when there was good in their eyes, now all I can think of is how fast I can drive home without falling apart on another highway,
Something is better than nothing I say,
Lured back to that place by the smell of something sweet, see, that's my problem,
I get too close, I bite in before I've taken the necessary precautions, I just can't resist the scent,
I catch my eyes in the rear view, leaned back and hazy with nostalgia,
You can't stay bitter forever,
You can't stay angry forever,
You can't stay here forever,
One time is all it takes, one perfect try,
So here I am again, dwelling on the threshold,
Asking the people inside if they know any good songs while they tie the rope they've been saving for me,
And if there will be light left in the sky on the other side of this,
Cause from where I'm standing, the night ain't slowing down for nobody
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 3:52 AM UTC
You'll grow out of it,
Like a snake
From
Its skin.
You'll see the light
Fade
To black
Because
You'll grow from mismanaged
Attacks.
You'll grow out of it,
Like a clam
Whose rotted from its
Shell.
You'll see the life you've lead
Will seems as if
All ones actions were controlled
By some kind of
Spell.
You'll grow out of it,
Like a bear
From its den.
When asked to leave
This place
You'll simply say,
When?
You'll grow out of it,
Like lovers so
Often do.
There's nothing
Permanent
In this world,
Not even
Special old You.
You'll grow out of it,
Like we all will,
Through and through.
Let the rain fall.
Let the wind blow.
Let the hot knife of life
Slide into you
Like it would
Through freshly fallen
Snow.
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 7:15 PM UTC
Mismanaged mizzenmast
meanders, melancholy …
moored, maligned;
manicured mainstay
muddied, mangled.
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 11:10 AM UTC
Running around
Like an idiot
And everything is a catastrophe,
Isn't it?
No composure, no finesse
All these worries you can't put to rest.
I wonder how you even passed the test,
How you can still wear that badge
On your chest.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC