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"paycheck" poems
helping the kids with homework• no one told you, was part of the job description paycheck earner a-ok, gruff but tender lover, knowing her special places, building a tree swing, a tree house safe and satisfactory, one the neighbors envy taking them to the hospital for broken arms and chemotherapy, part two of the non-routine but a very possible foreseeable, going to school to give that principal a look that will make him think twice before suspending one of his for defending himself you remember your daddy doing the same for you, forgetting to repeat the tar and hiding that came later the tucking in, the pretense ouch when your end of day scratchy beard ruffling the skin of babies, carrying tissues in a toolbox, never heard of, nevertheless done, tho not a memory defining the future inclusive, definitely a learning ability, a likeability doing homework, nuh uh, no way jose, don’t dare let them know how you never got a gold star, always sat in the back row, outta sight, all day dreaming, chemistry rhymes with mystery, and poetry is rhymes needing a big vocabulary which means lots of words for a man who don’t talk much ain’t exactly his strong suit sure, heard of Shakespeare but never met him, know where the on/off computer button hides, the rest is up to them; got no email address, but taught them sir and ma’am, how to address humans with respect, i’ll promise them anything but not doing any homework, unless it the kind that that makes “a home work
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Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 9:20 AM UTC
helping the kids with homework
helping the kids with homework• no one told you, was part of the job description paycheck earner a-ok, gruff but tender lover, knowing her special places, building a tree swing, a tree house safe and satisfactory, one the neighbors envy taking them to the hospital for broken arms and chemotherapy, part two of the non-routine but a very possible foreseeable, going to school to give that principal a look that will make him think twice before suspending one of his for defending himself you remember your daddy doing the same for you, forgetting to repeat the tar and hiding that came later the tucking in, the pretense ouch when your end of day scratchy beard ruffling the skin of babies, carrying tissues in a toolbox, never heard of, nevertheless done, tho not a memory defining the future inclusive, definitely a learning ability, a likeability doing homework, nuh uh, no way jose, don’t dare let them know how you never got a gold star, always sat in the back row, outta sight, all day dreaming, chemistry rhymes with mystery, and poetry is rhymes needing a big vocabulary which means lots of words for a man who don’t talk much ain’t exactly his strong suit sure, heard of Shakespeare but never met him, know where the on/off computer button hides, the rest is up to them; got no email address, but taught them sir and ma’am, how to address humans with respect, i’ll promise them anything but not doing any homework, unless it the kind that that makes “a home work
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41
She left Reno in a satin slip the color of hot coins pouring from slots, wearing chewed-up tennis shoes, mirrors multiplying her, the marquee burning out letter by letter, a hush pressed between her teeth as if saving the last note. I followed, a gangly shadow, mother’s voice in my ear: "life is not a freeway exit." But she was the exit. She drove west through a glittering throat. In Tonopah she was a waitress, red stains on her wrists, sleeves tugged low, coffee pouring thin as blood. In Barstow she was a sun-bleached Madonna, halo blistered, mouth lit in stained glass. At a gas station in Needles shimmering into a coyote’s shadow and slipped behind the pumps. Then movement along the fence, low, quick— gone again. Casinos blinked like electric relics. Truckers called her sugar, greedy hands counting her ribs as if she was the paycheck sweating in their fist, but she slipped away each time, her silhouette already moulting- a serpent skin, a smoke-trail, a saint’s shadow burning off the wall. By Malibu, the night had softened to velvet. The pier at Zuma leaned into the Pacific like a broken bridge. She sang to me— low, cracked— then let the slip fall. Her body cut into the dark tide, no disguise. I waded in after her, ankles bruised by rock. Water lit with jellyfish, each pulse a warning. I stopped where it deepened, felt the pull take hold. No exit left, just the Pacific’s mouth closing around her.
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Sep 1, 2025
Sep 1, 2025 at 8:08 PM UTC
Dust Madonna
You scribble down the name of a drug I can't pronounce Is that an A or an O? And send me on my way It seems like that's how you send all of us off these days Do you really know my life? Would you even take the time to listen? I have my doubts and I'm sticking with them Because frankly, all you're concerned about is the paycheck you'll be getting.
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Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
Doctors
You can pretend That the black gloss On my lashes Will glue my eyes shut- Make me blind to truth; To ‘true knowledge.’ Go ahead. Tell yourself That my red-painted lips Only spout nonsense. It will only make it sweeter When my wing-lined eyes Give you whiplash as I walk past you To get my degree; My award; My paycheck. Maybe if you’re ‘nice’ I’ll buy you an ice pack.
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Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 5:53 PM UTC
Brains or Beauty?
What I fear isn’t hairy eight legged creatures crawling into my mouth at night What I fear isn’t the whole “Something’s gonna come out of the dark and eat me,” while I’m trying to get a glass of water in the middle of the night. Nor even when my father angrily yells at me Because in all honesty he starts regurgitating spit from his mouth making it so hard to take him seriously when he’s drooling. What I’m afraid of is… I’m afraid of tomorrow… You see, Once upon a time On a Saturday Night I was so excited to finally finish writing my second chapter of my fan fiction Talking to a few friends. And relaxing from my stressful day of a Saturday. Then suddenly a wild message about financial aid appears, Now, This isn’t where my fears start coming to life This isn’t even where my thoughts were being provoked. This was just a simple conversation about financial aid information. You see,| My friend knows little about financial aid and my friend asked about the information I know. I thought, “Well I have limited knowledge on this…I’ll give my friend my best answers and hope it turns out alright.” Well, Things didn’t turn out the way I had imagined it. You see, This private conversation evolved into a group chat And even the financial aid information conversation evolved into, “How are you going to pay for your college expenses?” You see, I don’t fear of creatures with eight legs, I don’t fear of monsters in the darkness I don’t even fear of my father’s angry tone! I fear what tomorrow’s going to be I fear that my future will only just be a dream. It’s so hard to be focusing on where I’m going to be at next year when this year looks like the saddest thing on Earth. It’s so hard to concentrate on tomorrow when today looks like a horrible nightmare. Today, I’m stressed I’m not stressed about my grades I know I work harder than the average student. I’m not stressed about the guy I might like Because right now, A boyfriend is not what I be needing. I’m stressed that I may not get a job I’m stressed that my dad may lose his I’m stressed that my mom can’t find another I’m stressed that I won’t be able to pay for my ACT Ticket I’m stressed that I won’t be able to afford my SAT Subject Ticket I’m stressed that I won’t be able to pay for my college apps And I’m stressed that I can’t get fee waver Because according to the government my parents make too much for me to have one When in reality My family barely survives on a paycheck. It’s getting harder and harder to survive on that paycheck Because presently speaking It’s getting harder and harder to pay to keep on living. And because I don’t have a job yet, My parents are still forced to pay for me to keep on living. I’m stressed that I’m not going to have a tomorrow I’m stressed that I’m not going to go to a college to pay college expenses for I’m stressed that this fear is going to keep controlling my life! But… I can’t let that happen… I can’t let this fear run my life. ‘Cause sooner or later its going to run it down tot eh ground and I won’t be able to recover from that I can’t let this fear consume me, Because I’ll never find a way out. I fear something… I don’t fear eight hairy legged creatures crawling into my mouth at night, I don’t fear monsters eating me alive while I’m trying to get something to drink. Nor do I fear my dad yelling at me. I fear of tomorrow. I can’t focus on where I’m going to be at next year when today is all foggy with no sign of light.
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Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 4:29 AM UTC
I fear.
What I fear isn’t hairy eight legged creatures crawling into my mouth at night What I fear isn’t the whole “Something’s gonna come out of the dark and eat me,” while I’m trying to get a glass of water in the middle of the night. Nor even when my father angrily yells at me Because in all honesty he starts regurgitating spit from his mouth making it so hard to take him seriously when he’s drooling. What I’m afraid of is… I’m afraid of tomorrow… You see, Once upon a time On a Saturday Night I was so excited to finally finish writing my second chapter of my fan fiction Talking to a few friends. And relaxing from my stressful day of a Saturday. Then suddenly a wild message about financial aid appears, Now, This isn’t where my fears start coming to life This isn’t even where my thoughts were being provoked. This was just a simple conversation about financial aid information. You see,| My friend knows little about financial aid and my friend asked about the information I know. I thought, “Well I have limited knowledge on this…I’ll give my friend my best answers and hope it turns out alright.” Well, Things didn’t turn out the way I had imagined it. You see, This private conversation evolved into a group chat And even the financial aid information conversation evolved into, “How are you going to pay for your college expenses?” You see, I don’t fear of creatures with eight legs, I don’t fear of monsters in the darkness I don’t even fear of my father’s angry tone! I fear what tomorrow’s going to be I fear that my future will only just be a dream. It’s so hard to be focusing on where I’m going to be at next year when this year looks like the saddest thing on Earth. It’s so hard to concentrate on tomorrow when today looks like a horrible nightmare. Today, I’m stressed I’m not stressed about my grades I know I work harder than the average student. I’m not stressed about the guy I might like Because right now, A boyfriend is not what I be needing. I’m stressed that I may not get a job I’m stressed that my dad may lose his I’m stressed that my mom can’t find another I’m stressed that I won’t be able to pay for my ACT Ticket I’m stressed that I won’t be able to afford my SAT Subject Ticket I’m stressed that I won’t be able to pay for my college apps And I’m stressed that I can’t get fee waver Because according to the government my parents make too much for me to have one When in reality My family barely survives on a paycheck. It’s getting harder and harder to survive on that paycheck Because presently speaking It’s getting harder and harder to pay to keep on living. And because I don’t have a job yet, My parents are still forced to pay for me to keep on living. I’m stressed that I’m not going to have a tomorrow I’m stressed that I’m not going to go to a college to pay college expenses for I’m stressed that this fear is going to keep controlling my life! But… I can’t let that happen… I can’t let this fear run my life. ‘Cause sooner or later its going to run it down tot eh ground and I won’t be able to recover from that I can’t let this fear consume me, Because I’ll never find a way out. I fear something… I don’t fear eight hairy legged creatures crawling into my mouth at night, I don’t fear monsters eating me alive while I’m trying to get something to drink. Nor do I fear my dad yelling at me. I fear of tomorrow. I can’t focus on where I’m going to be at next year when today is all foggy with no sign of light.
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72
Quickest way to bring out Hater Nation is to be: Rich, Famous, Smart, Attractive or Ambitious. Somebody pays you a compliment and LOOK OUT! Here comes the haters! Haters hate rich people. Haters hate famous people. Haters hate attractive people. Haters hate Ambition and if they honest, haters hate themselves. Got some advice for all the haters of the world. You got nothing nice to say **** and keep it to yourself. Worlds got wars, terrorists, poor folks with needs. In America we got big issues like high unemployment, poor economy, bad health care systems, some don't have insurance, politicians who don't give a **** about anything but getting paid a big fat paycheck and more issues. Learn to love yourself and stop the hating Hater Nation.
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Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC
Hater Nation
I used to feel ashamed to be put in the category of: Illegal, immigrant, undocumented, Or simply not a U.S Citizen I’ve been oppressed and rejected from: Jobs, schools and programs, Because I’m not a red-blooded American But through God I learned that I should Be proud of who I am and what country I come from And that makes me free Because I still have choices I still have options As long as I try, I can smile As long as I have God My life is worthwhile Because I’m His child I can’t contain myself any more I’m tired of being broke and poor I’m going to get that full ride Into a 4 year college I’m going to get that steady job security with: A steady paycheck, that’s re-locatable and it’s fun I’m tired of lying, hiding, and scamming To get into organizations, staffing agencies and jobs That would help my life be healthier I dislike the fact that you have to Get married to get a green card I hate using a fake social security number Or tax ID on applications that ask for it I don’t like making up excuses about Why I don’t qualify for financial aid or unemployment But I’m going to man up and keep moving forward It doesn’t matter how much: Pain, anxiety, frustration, bad attitudes, Disappointment, confusion, heart break Or put downs I get in life I’ll keep fighting the good fight with all my heart And I’m going to be honest even if hurts me Because I still have choices I still have options As long as I try, I can smile As long as I have my God, My life is worthwhile Because I am His child By Shannon Pollard © December 2012
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Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 9:57 PM UTC
Go For the Gusto
I used to feel ashamed to be put in the category of: Illegal, immigrant, undocumented, Or simply not a U.S Citizen I’ve been oppressed and rejected from: Jobs, schools and programs, Because I’m not a red-blooded American But through God I learned that I should Be proud of who I am and what country I come from And that makes me free Because I still have choices I still have options As long as I try, I can smile As long as I have God My life is worthwhile Because I’m His child I can’t contain myself any more I’m tired of being broke and poor I’m going to get that full ride Into a 4 year college I’m going to get that steady job security with: A steady paycheck, that’s re-locatable and it’s fun I’m tired of lying, hiding, and scamming To get into organizations, staffing agencies and jobs That would help my life be healthier I dislike the fact that you have to Get married to get a green card I hate using a fake social security number Or tax ID on applications that ask for it I don’t like making up excuses about Why I don’t qualify for financial aid or unemployment But I’m going to man up and keep moving forward It doesn’t matter how much: Pain, anxiety, frustration, bad attitudes, Disappointment, confusion, heart break Or put downs I get in life I’ll keep fighting the good fight with all my heart And I’m going to be honest even if hurts me Because I still have choices I still have options As long as I try, I can smile As long as I have my God, My life is worthwhile Because I am His child By Shannon Pollard © December 2012
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45
(October 17th, 2013, I think is when I wrote this.) There aren’t many things that I’m good at. I have bad grades. I’m aware of this, but they still insist on shouting as if three letter F’s determine my worth as well as my ability. I’m not athletic, never been remotely decent at sports, picked last for soccer, football, basketball, and everything else, tried to do parkour once- however, that hope quickly dissolved when I discovered that it was still nerve-wracking for me to climb a fence. (One of the many gifts that comes with a severe lack of coordination.) I’m not a quiet person. I don’t know how to hold my tongue most of the time. So when my father’s paycheck is cut shorter and shorter, when he makes little enough as it is, my stay-at-home mother fighting her demons of the severe depression and anxiety that she passed down to me as well as her (auditory) hallucinations, her BPD, her physical disabilities, not making a paycheck at all, and my school supplies consist of 50-cent notebooks that fall apart, and 75-cent pens, I get a little… “upset”. I’ve played guitar for three years. Sometimes, it’s what I’m best at, playing strings of notes and minor chords that come together to form beautiful harmonies- but more often than not, every note is sour… Another thing I’m not good at. But I am a writer. People don’t pay attention to teenagers, they say We’re so full of ourselves, We think we’re so important, they say We need to communicate, but when we try all they hear is whining, and complaining. Teenagers telling their friends in passing conversation that they’re suicidal, that they hurt themselves, just to see who will notice- who will listen- and of course, no one does. Nobody notices that teenagers are the voice of our generation, and our generation, as such, is royally ****** because nobody pays attention. There aren’t many things that I’m good at. But I am a writer. And I have a voice, a pen… And paper torn from a 50-cent notebook.
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Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC
I Am A Writer
(October 17th, 2013, I think is when I wrote this.) There aren’t many things that I’m good at. I have bad grades. I’m aware of this, but they still insist on shouting as if three letter F’s determine my worth as well as my ability. I’m not athletic, never been remotely decent at sports, picked last for soccer, football, basketball, and everything else, tried to do parkour once- however, that hope quickly dissolved when I discovered that it was still nerve-wracking for me to climb a fence. (One of the many gifts that comes with a severe lack of coordination.) I’m not a quiet person. I don’t know how to hold my tongue most of the time. So when my father’s paycheck is cut shorter and shorter, when he makes little enough as it is, my stay-at-home mother fighting her demons of the severe depression and anxiety that she passed down to me as well as her (auditory) hallucinations, her BPD, her physical disabilities, not making a paycheck at all, and my school supplies consist of 50-cent notebooks that fall apart, and 75-cent pens, I get a little… “upset”. I’ve played guitar for three years. Sometimes, it’s what I’m best at, playing strings of notes and minor chords that come together to form beautiful harmonies- but more often than not, every note is sour… Another thing I’m not good at. But I am a writer. People don’t pay attention to teenagers, they say We’re so full of ourselves, We think we’re so important, they say We need to communicate, but when we try all they hear is whining, and complaining. Teenagers telling their friends in passing conversation that they’re suicidal, that they hurt themselves, just to see who will notice- who will listen- and of course, no one does. Nobody notices that teenagers are the voice of our generation, and our generation, as such, is royally ****** because nobody pays attention. There aren’t many things that I’m good at. But I am a writer. And I have a voice, a pen… And paper torn from a 50-cent notebook.
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85
Everyone complains about the "system", how it is rigged, manipulated and controlled. But they do not take a moment to listen, or to take a moment and break the mold. Work out and do not eat those fries, then you will say goodbye to those thighs. Work hard, work long, and get the paycheck, take a chance and stick out your neck. Become what you despise, or stand and rise. Because you can lie down and die, and let them walk on you, curl up and cry, and let your whole life turn blue. But your failure is your own fault, not the systems, you were not locked in a vault. You have been duped, or you are duping, So stop singing the song the dupees sing. Updated from my tablet which my white upper class parents bought me to prepare for my pre_paid college*
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Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 12:05 PM UTC
Walking in the shoes of ignorance
We sat at the table, waiting for our number to be called. Their pepperoni pizza, was our most favorite one of all. Our number is announced, George is carrying the pizza back. When close, he decides to act, as though he trips in his tracks. In slow motion, that pizza, slid so smoothly out of the pan. George's eyes got big as saucers, he saw the folly of his plan. There I was in my new outfit, that cost half of my paycheck. With pizza, upside down on my lap and sauce splashed on my neck. Amazingly calm, George scooped the pizza up in his hands. Melted cheese, stretching and stringing, from my pants in gooey strands. He stood there patting and pressing the pizza back into shape. That poor pizza looked just like a badly, bulldozered landscape. It lay there sort of twisted, pepperoni all to one side. Crust pieces stinking out of it, like a saucy red mudslide. Then he sat down across from me, silently as if waiting. I must have looked like a blonde fish, sitting there, just gapping. Then a chuckle escaped my lips, as his eyes raised to meet mine. He looked just like a little boy, who just got caught in a crime. I'm surprised we didn't get kicked out for making such a fuss. 'Cause, next thing you know, the whole place is laughing along with us. We couldn't stop, there was no way we'd been able. Not while upsidedown-lap pizza, stared at us from the table
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Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 7:04 PM UTC
He Knew How To Impress
Look into the mirror and Smile Greet every customer with a warm Smile Close your eyes alone and Smile Think about the war and Smile Imagine your daughter and smile Leave your troubles at the door and Smile Black out, wake up without a mother and Smile Smile for the camera Smile Smile Smile Look I know you're depressed but Smile Maybe you'll be happier if you Smile I heard you can trick your body's chemicals into thinking you're happy if you just Smile I didn't say be happy, I said Smile Smoke a cigarette and Smile Look your ****** in the toes and Smile Put your makeup on and Smile Pour a fresh cup of coffee and Smile Hold their hand, look at the stars and Smile Shut the **** up and Smile Sit at the bottom of your shower and Smile Empty this bottle and Smile Lose your lifes fourtune at blackjack and Smile Take this pill and Smile Stop Smiling Why are you still Smiling? Is that all you can ******* do? SMILE? Smile Like this contortion of flesh is taking a punch Smile Because this curvature is a war on hatred Smile Like a curse word Like body armor Like a paycheck Smile.
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Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 2:02 PM UTC
Smile!
"Girls shouldn't smoke" I'm sorry sir, say that again? Tell that to the 15 year old hispanic girl who sold her virtue under the guidance of the traffic lights to pay off her mother's cancer bills. Tell that to the wife of a man who beat beat beats her, because some nights she refuses to kneel at his supposed genital altar and confess her sins. Tell that to the girl who has spent 6 months carving her home address into her forearms, hoping that her Mum would smell the rust and come and rescue her. Tell that to the girl who was stolenshackleddruggedsold under the consent of her father who used her body as a paycheck to settle his blackjack debt. To the lonely girl. The ugly girl. The fat girl. The anorexic girl. The bulimic girl. The girl. "Girls shouldn't smoke." Tell that to the women who find their prayers in the daily grace that is, nicotine. Just like men do.
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Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC
Gender based addictions.
Snail trail leading from mouth to heinous **** let slugs undulate their way across my listerine lips old jokes like S-Car-Go and stuff inside me more variable and insuppressible similar to Inspector Gadget Matthew Broderick was my mentor as a child I am not in pampers any longer 4 P's of teens ***** petrol party and paycheck that doesn't include pampers I used to wade in my own **** that's ******* disgusting to think about now now an adult still just wasting time and wading through my own ****
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Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 2:17 PM UTC
Living is an insufferable mitochondria
Thirty years of monthly payments for a roof, garage, and backyard, The house burns down the day you pay it off, A brand new model, heated seats, leather wrapped steering wheel, more speakers than you can hear, pride and joy, taken from you by some careless ******* focused on "Me" not focused on red lights or stop signs. The frame is bent, airbags deployed, the insurance writes you a check and sends a form apology with next month's bill. The newest clothes aren't so new, once they're washed twice, but we base our wealth on fleeting things, wood, status symbols and cotton, We pay ourselves by saving money already spent, and paying old bills so we can have new ones, Wealth isn't tied to these temporary things, easily replaced by more work and money No Wealth is created, easily sustained, by good night kisses, road trips just because, and matching shirts for family pictures, things that make us remember how to be happy, because we are all temporary, but our love is not so easily replaced. So even if you rent, or you take the bus or you have clothes in your closet for years The time spent with people you love wil always cover you until the next paycheck you've already spent anyway.
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Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 3:43 PM UTC
Wealth
Contentment is the greatest evil in the human grab bag of emotions. It’s born out of the head of ignorance, it resides in the heart of the blind. It manifests its evil doctrine of passiveness throughout the body, until fully enslaved by inaction. It turns agents into sun tanners, activists into office workers, outlaws into accountants. It puts preservatives into culture, it laminates laws, it places crowns on faceless leaders. It slaps a smile across the ***** the beaten, the neglected, the racially profiled. It mutes news casts, veils the homeless man that lives behind office buildings, glorifies the paycheck. It makes the walls of homes seem bullet, terror, bomb, corruption, and death proof. It allows sleep at night, it kills the monsters under the bed and the ghosts in the closet. It causes hundreds of thousands of suffering people to simply, disappear. It insures, “birds like to be caged,” and “pain is just part of the human condition.” It whispers these misconceptions like a priest insuring his congregation of the power of Jesus. Contentment, you see, corrupts the very concept of progress. Progress is deemed by the million-pieces-of-paper-owners to be founded in terms of economy. Progress is deemed by the people-who-stop-us-from-returning-to-state-of-nature to be founded in terms of control. Progress has forgotten it’s maker, just as dying old men forget that they were once bounced on a loving knee. Contentment leaks from the Western world and infects all those around it. When you are no longer content you will begin to see the holes in the patchwork of life, and wonder how it was you hadn’t seen them before. When you are no longer content, you will at last demand change.
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Dec 23, 2010
Dec 23, 2010 at 9:09 PM UTC
Contentment
Contentment is the greatest evil in the human grab bag of emotions. It’s born out of the head of ignorance, it resides in the heart of the blind. It manifests its evil doctrine of passiveness throughout the body, until fully enslaved by inaction. It turns agents into sun tanners, activists into office workers, outlaws into accountants. It puts preservatives into culture, it laminates laws, it places crowns on faceless leaders. It slaps a smile across the ***** the beaten, the neglected, the racially profiled. It mutes news casts, veils the homeless man that lives behind office buildings, glorifies the paycheck. It makes the walls of homes seem bullet, terror, bomb, corruption, and death proof. It allows sleep at night, it kills the monsters under the bed and the ghosts in the closet. It causes hundreds of thousands of suffering people to simply, disappear. It insures, “birds like to be caged,” and “pain is just part of the human condition.” It whispers these misconceptions like a priest insuring his congregation of the power of Jesus. Contentment, you see, corrupts the very concept of progress. Progress is deemed by the million-pieces-of-paper-owners to be founded in terms of economy. Progress is deemed by the people-who-stop-us-from-returning-to-state-of-nature to be founded in terms of control. Progress has forgotten it’s maker, just as dying old men forget that they were once bounced on a loving knee. Contentment leaks from the Western world and infects all those around it. When you are no longer content you will begin to see the holes in the patchwork of life, and wonder how it was you hadn’t seen them before. When you are no longer content, you will at last demand change.
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34
Got the New Job Blues find the politics absurd but like the paycheck
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Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
New Job Blues
No water tastes sweeter than that sip in the desert No touch is finer than that hand on the shoulder when encased in loneliness. No paycheck more abundant than following employment deprivation. No buffet more filling than that first bite in hunger. No more wondrous serenity than when the pain finally goes away from your mouth your back your head your knees your gut your mind. No idea more stimulating to a mind so hungry than a poem which catches the moment so perfectly. No love more appreciated than when awash in self judgement No praise more received than when lost in condemnation. No warmth more soothing than when lost in the snow. No light so bright as that first sunlight when lost in the demons of one's night. No sensation so pure as an open heart after numbness descends Compassion in hatred A laugh when joyless. A lover's kiss after betrayal A loving look after the cold white wall A loving word after tense stone silence. No embrace more healing than when you come home to me. The receding waters after the tsunami The stillness after the earthquake. The peace after the warfare. The spring flowers after the winter The coolness of fall after the blistering summer's heat. The wood stove so warm when the house is so cold. No bed so content No home so sweet after being stuck out on the streets. Duality Reality Without our joys no sorrow Without our sorrows no joy.
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Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 3:23 PM UTC
Duality Reality
We are told that Nothing trumps Trump's Misogyny but truth will out When his sexist shtick is a Gift that keeps giving for His Republican rivals, Whose Lips are sealed, but by Their deeds their hands are unclean. We know that Bush did not beat about the bush When he said of women on welfare that “They should Be able to get their life Together and find a husband" We know that Walker repealed Wisconsin's only Equal pay law and supported anti-choice Invasive intrusion of a woman's right To choose. We know that Mike H Has mused that he thinks women Who cannot control their “Libido" Should not “curse” and Jay Z is really A **** seems to be exploiting Beyoncé. We know that Rubio opposed re-authorizing the Violence against Women Act, even though he knew What it meant when he opposed the Paycheck Fairness Act. We know Rand P was rightly Republican in similarly Voting against the Paycheck Act, and in his college secret Society promoted Anita B's views that oral *** was a sin. Perhaps they all need to look in the mirror and adhere to The Biblical adage that "He who is without sin should Cast the first stone" But what is sin anyway?
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Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
Sexist Shtick
dissipated and disillusioned worms eating through the last splinters of the rotting universal wood. the last transmission of regret sent electronically, spluttered, into a tissue; in a moment of self indulgent ********** live showings of vicious execution, transmitted directly from the electromagnetic waves into the alpha waves of the young and naive. Desensitization, the last drops of humanity into complete disengagement. endlessly recycled bohemian ideologies whispered into the ear of the eager idealist. spreading like fire, before burning out into the uncatchable reverie up with the stars, with all the other reveries, shining bright, intangible. Instant dismissal from the old man, as the big curtain draws. Cynicism and fragmented past, falling on apathetic eyes, a proud man treat with a padded hand. faux sympathetic tones, blushing cheeks on old bones. Begging with your body crumbling to dust with the disinterested doc, looking at the clock counting the milliseconds to the paycheck. Decomposing until you can be swept under the perpetual rug with the rest, Vacuum.
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Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 12:11 PM UTC
Vacuum
You stripped my soul, Ripped me from my shoes Where I stood in innocence. You extracted my childlike traits, Treated my body As your ********* paycheck. My whole future Was laid out in front me. Now you fabricated a dent in it, One that has shattered me Forever. I used to smile, Be full of life, Slept at night, My body never reeked the incessant scent of the lifeless souls you sold me to. My heart ached everyday, I longed for home, where safety was waiting for me. Everyday I was a raindrop, Trying to cling onto the window of hope, But always slipped away. You don’t understand the pain, You’re only in it for the hunnits Please understand, That my dehumanization is not worthy For what you gain. My body became an abstract canvas, For your ugly pleasures. Bruised, bloodied, beaten, and battered. Cuts and aches line my delicate skin, But to you all my pain is fake. You slapped my delicate face, every time I asked for my precious prize of my childhood, every time clear oceans surged out of my eyes. “Shut the hell up!” You yelled As I let out wails of agony. You stepped all over me Like I was a used cigarette. You ignored my shrieking screams, Actually, You loved it. You forced me To comply with their beastly gratifications, Only in return for your abundant riches. You stepped on me, like I was a ***** grimy, muddy puddle, over and over Even so, I was still considered desirable. I am NOT your canvas. I am NOT your paycheck. I am NOT your plaything. I am worthy of honor, worthy of respectful awe and delicacy. I did not feel the worth of a human being anymore. I felt ill treated, broken, bent, demeaned. You stripped my soul, and, Deprived me of my self respect. And I will never Ever Be the same. The only thought That seeps into my mind At sunrise and the brink of midnight, Is that I Was someone’s ***** Listen to the pleas of Children, their ribbons shriveling up. Spouses, their vows rupturing. Siblings, their hearts torn apart. Parents, Bawling for their sanities, Waiting to rejoice With their miraculous bundles of joy—
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Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 11:13 AM UTC
Pulverization
You stripped my soul, Ripped me from my shoes Where I stood in innocence. You extracted my childlike traits, Treated my body As your ********* paycheck. My whole future Was laid out in front me. Now you fabricated a dent in it, One that has shattered me Forever. I used to smile, Be full of life, Slept at night, My body never reeked the incessant scent of the lifeless souls you sold me to. My heart ached everyday, I longed for home, where safety was waiting for me. Everyday I was a raindrop, Trying to cling onto the window of hope, But always slipped away. You don’t understand the pain, You’re only in it for the hunnits Please understand, That my dehumanization is not worthy For what you gain. My body became an abstract canvas, For your ugly pleasures. Bruised, bloodied, beaten, and battered. Cuts and aches line my delicate skin, But to you all my pain is fake. You slapped my delicate face, every time I asked for my precious prize of my childhood, every time clear oceans surged out of my eyes. “Shut the hell up!” You yelled As I let out wails of agony. You stepped all over me Like I was a used cigarette. You ignored my shrieking screams, Actually, You loved it. You forced me To comply with their beastly gratifications, Only in return for your abundant riches. You stepped on me, like I was a ***** grimy, muddy puddle, over and over Even so, I was still considered desirable. I am NOT your canvas. I am NOT your paycheck. I am NOT your plaything. I am worthy of honor, worthy of respectful awe and delicacy. I did not feel the worth of a human being anymore. I felt ill treated, broken, bent, demeaned. You stripped my soul, and, Deprived me of my self respect. And I will never Ever Be the same. The only thought That seeps into my mind At sunrise and the brink of midnight, Is that I Was someone’s ***** Listen to the pleas of Children, their ribbons shriveling up. Spouses, their vows rupturing. Siblings, their hearts torn apart. Parents, Bawling for their sanities, Waiting to rejoice With their miraculous bundles of joy—
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79
Some get that way by playing it safe, memorizing mantras, righteously abiding by rules, some get there by cutting seams, lost in purposelessness, partaking of ether, marijuana, alcohol, or anything that's buzzy enough, some find their sweepstakes in curls, in fantasies, on the internet, or in the aftermath, some claim the spoils, some gracefully accept determination, some divorce their wives, some happily raise their pulse to the heavy metals, some review albums and cut down the ******** some write love stories for our grandmas, our moms, our ex-girlfriends, some find it in politics, right winging, left winging, chicken winging, some in bomb threats, some find it in supremacy, others in melting pots, some cheer up over breakroom chitty-chats, some in **** *** some in sympathizing with pedophiles trapped in iron lungs, some when they have hit the bottom rung, some by rationalizing, boosting themselves above half-wrongs, to coast on the half-rights, some by breaking up, some by declaring war, only to get discouraged, yet proud of the scars, some kids dance to experimental music, some write blogs about capitalism, some find it kicking it with bitter vegans, others while murdering their parents, but everyone is a winner, everyone is right, everyone has earned the paycheck, the vacation, the **** wife, and the key to eternal life.
0
Dec 16, 2010
Dec 16, 2010 at 8:03 AM UTC
Everyone is a Winner (hoo-rah-ray)
all of America’s gubmint hatin yahoos, pining to get their country back, should grab yer rifles, stock up on ammo and giddy up down  to Texas to join the secessionists headin out of the Union Rick Perry promises to keep his promise to close all the gubmint departments he can't remember the names of Ron Paul will finally be liberated from the tyranny of his federal paycheck and can return to his district to practice medicine unencumbered by the acceptance of medicare payments Ted Cruz will move to coronate his Cuban born daddy as Viceroy for life of the western hemispheres newest banana republic the last act of of the Compartment of Education will be to turn every public school into a Holy Ghostin Jehovah meetin house Judicial magistrates will criminalize poor people or just make them slaves and all prisons will be turned into profit driven plantations, overseen by the local Sheriffs who will be paid time and a half and 15% of all profits unfortunately the Cowboy’s will lose it’s moniker as America’s Team if rattlesnake booted Jerry Jones can’t make a deal to turn his stadium into a sovereign independent territory as a protectorate of the USA To assure national purity Texans will build a Jericho style wall to define the boundaries of their heavenly kingdom and outlaw all trumpet playing within earshot of their perturbed borders The Eyes of Texas as the state anthem will need to be reworded The final stanza will be changed to "Until Gabriel blows his nose" keepin the ungodly out and the chosen people safely insulated within the shining Lone Star State will rise again as a solitary confederacy of dunces Music Selection: The Eyes of Texas Oakland 11/18/13 jbm
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Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
The Eyes of Texas
all of America’s gubmint hatin yahoos, pining to get their country back, should grab yer rifles, stock up on ammo and giddy up down  to Texas to join the secessionists headin out of the Union Rick Perry promises to keep his promise to close all the gubmint departments he can't remember the names of Ron Paul will finally be liberated from the tyranny of his federal paycheck and can return to his district to practice medicine unencumbered by the acceptance of medicare payments Ted Cruz will move to coronate his Cuban born daddy as Viceroy for life of the western hemispheres newest banana republic the last act of of the Compartment of Education will be to turn every public school into a Holy Ghostin Jehovah meetin house Judicial magistrates will criminalize poor people or just make them slaves and all prisons will be turned into profit driven plantations, overseen by the local Sheriffs who will be paid time and a half and 15% of all profits unfortunately the Cowboy’s will lose it’s moniker as America’s Team if rattlesnake booted Jerry Jones can’t make a deal to turn his stadium into a sovereign independent territory as a protectorate of the USA To assure national purity Texans will build a Jericho style wall to define the boundaries of their heavenly kingdom and outlaw all trumpet playing within earshot of their perturbed borders The Eyes of Texas as the state anthem will need to be reworded The final stanza will be changed to "Until Gabriel blows his nose" keepin the ungodly out and the chosen people safely insulated within the shining Lone Star State will rise again as a solitary confederacy of dunces Music Selection: The Eyes of Texas Oakland 11/18/13 jbm
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118
even teddy said i got the sickest tricks brah. like my abilities source from some kinda legendary liquid                                                                                       / praise the lord / monster energy should sponsor me. a kickflip over the king’s *** hole & a halfcab for the looky-loos. i feel so tall when i climb that heap of asphalt trimmings & see clear from the water tower to the bluffs. gimme a good day, any day at the bluffs, bottlerockets & girly birds. her body brings a swarm of worms. decomp, said the f.b.i. men one by one with tweezers. not quite the homecoming queen, still wrapped in plastic. look up. see that great mess of wires, nest of powerlines and owl bones? it crackles and croons its electro-spectral purr all night and day. new neck tat & cody spends his paycheck on a crossbow. we target practice on a bull skull. wet cigarettes and turpentine-soaked socks for a good huff in the dry of the roofline as it dumps. there’s that little boy in a ghost mask again, tap-dancing in puddles below the streetlamp, & oversized shoes. his grandmoms always be watchin’ from the window. [whispers] she’s teaching him magic. lucky unit 19: where our young dead damsel once dolled herself up, you see men and headlights would roll thru thrice nightly, maybe more. & i remember her punch red lips & big whicker hat; while she weeded and watered her garden of begonias. the sheriff’s deputy, hart? hicks? hogan? well he loved her a bunch. stole her clothes in the middle of the night, & sat beside the river sobbing into clumped fists of bra and blouse. i bought ******* from that guy once or twice. harold? howard? guess who showed his face today? josiah, from unit 08. since the incident with molly’s beagle, he’s been rarely seen. took a bee line straight for the mailbox. a package. a prize. a decoder ring/secret map sweepstakes to be seen and deciphered.
0
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 1:44 AM UTC
& skullduggery at the fat trout trailer park
even teddy said i got the sickest tricks brah. like my abilities source from some kinda legendary liquid                                                                                       / praise the lord / monster energy should sponsor me. a kickflip over the king’s *** hole & a halfcab for the looky-loos. i feel so tall when i climb that heap of asphalt trimmings & see clear from the water tower to the bluffs. gimme a good day, any day at the bluffs, bottlerockets & girly birds. her body brings a swarm of worms. decomp, said the f.b.i. men one by one with tweezers. not quite the homecoming queen, still wrapped in plastic. look up. see that great mess of wires, nest of powerlines and owl bones? it crackles and croons its electro-spectral purr all night and day. new neck tat & cody spends his paycheck on a crossbow. we target practice on a bull skull. wet cigarettes and turpentine-soaked socks for a good huff in the dry of the roofline as it dumps. there’s that little boy in a ghost mask again, tap-dancing in puddles below the streetlamp, & oversized shoes. his grandmoms always be watchin’ from the window. [whispers] she’s teaching him magic. lucky unit 19: where our young dead damsel once dolled herself up, you see men and headlights would roll thru thrice nightly, maybe more. & i remember her punch red lips & big whicker hat; while she weeded and watered her garden of begonias. the sheriff’s deputy, hart? hicks? hogan? well he loved her a bunch. stole her clothes in the middle of the night, & sat beside the river sobbing into clumped fists of bra and blouse. i bought ******* from that guy once or twice. harold? howard? guess who showed his face today? josiah, from unit 08. since the incident with molly’s beagle, he’s been rarely seen. took a bee line straight for the mailbox. a package. a prize. a decoder ring/secret map sweepstakes to be seen and deciphered.
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47
Most days I wear flip-flops because I am too lazy to wear socks, and I like the feeling of summer somewhere close to me, and I like to watch my feet move. Do you know, there are so many small little bones in there! it amazes me. My mom used to massage my feet to wake me up. She's been the best foot-massager of all, better than all the friends and the boyfriends. Better than the early morning sleepy-satisfying stretches, better than the feeling of sunlit warm wood on my bare feet. Better than grass. Her calloused hands, and softly hummed melodies. Tattooed arms, faded turquoise. Sun on her skin. If I could see my mom in myself every time I looked in the mirror I think I would be relaxed. I would play more music. I would spend my next paycheck taking a day off with a pina colada and tattooing a turtle, on my foot, just like hers. Flexing my feet. Cold night air. Flip-flopping on the concrete. I wish I could dive into the ocean, ice-cold, something worth laughing into the nighttime. So much seriousness all the time, I think that people need to eat more butter and not take skin to mean so much. Silly, really, I guess. But a Mom-massage might just mean the world sometimes. And smiling with someone is like a Mom-massage, right when I need it most. To everyone who's been there, thank you.
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Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
Why I love feet, and people, and why I try not to care so much, and why I love hugging, and why smiling is everything
It's Like, I don't care about nothin man... sigh I was gonna clean my room, but I'm too depressed... I was gonna get up and find the broom but I'm such a mess... my room is still messed up and I know why why man? because I'm depressed because I'm depressed because I'm depressed... sigh I was gonna go to class but I'm so depressed... I coulda cheated and I coulda passed but I'm such a mess. I am taking it next semester and I know why, why man? because I'm depressed because I'm depressed because I'm depressed... sigh I was gonna go to work but I'm too depressed I just got a new promotion but I'm such a mess now I've got a rope and I know why why man? because I'm depressed because I'm depressed because I'm depressed... sigh I was gonna go to court but I'm so depressed I was gonna pay my child support but I'm such a mess they took my whole paycheck and I know why why man? because I'm depressed because I'm depressed because I'm depressed... sigh I was gonna make love to you but I'm too depressed I was gonna eat yo ***** too but I'm such a mess now I'm jacking off and I know why, why man? because I'm depressed because I'm depressed because I'm depressed... sigh I messed up my entire life because I'm depressed I lost my kids and wife because I'm depressed now I'm sleeping on the sidewalk and I know why why man? because I'm depressed because I'm depressed because I'm depressed... sigh I'm gonna stop singing this song because I'm depressed I'm singing this whole thing wrong because I'm depressed and if I dont sell one copy I know why why man? cause after this verse I'll be in a hearse cause I'm so depressed... sigh
0
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 9:19 PM UTC
Remix
It's Like, I don't care about nothin man... sigh I was gonna clean my room, but I'm too depressed... I was gonna get up and find the broom but I'm such a mess... my room is still messed up and I know why why man? because I'm depressed because I'm depressed because I'm depressed... sigh I was gonna go to class but I'm so depressed... I coulda cheated and I coulda passed but I'm such a mess. I am taking it next semester and I know why, why man? because I'm depressed because I'm depressed because I'm depressed... sigh I was gonna go to work but I'm too depressed I just got a new promotion but I'm such a mess now I've got a rope and I know why why man? because I'm depressed because I'm depressed because I'm depressed... sigh I was gonna go to court but I'm so depressed I was gonna pay my child support but I'm such a mess they took my whole paycheck and I know why why man? because I'm depressed because I'm depressed because I'm depressed... sigh I was gonna make love to you but I'm too depressed I was gonna eat yo ***** too but I'm such a mess now I'm jacking off and I know why, why man? because I'm depressed because I'm depressed because I'm depressed... sigh I messed up my entire life because I'm depressed I lost my kids and wife because I'm depressed now I'm sleeping on the sidewalk and I know why why man? because I'm depressed because I'm depressed because I'm depressed... sigh I'm gonna stop singing this song because I'm depressed I'm singing this whole thing wrong because I'm depressed and if I dont sell one copy I know why why man? cause after this verse I'll be in a hearse cause I'm so depressed... sigh
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