"shirking" poems
We are afraid of tying knots.
Now, my brothers weren't fond of Boy Scouts, but those aren't the kinds of knots I'm talking about.
Our parents got us velcro shoes growing up (something about not wanting us to be overwhelmed with tennis shoes)
And that, perhaps, was the moment that started everything.
We could no longer trip on loose laces as we ran our races,
Our parents couldn't see our disappointed faces as we fumbled getting ready for school.
It was the perfect contribution to the flawed illusion that the human institution should be prevented from failing.
Oh, yes.
In my lifetime, cordless telephones were placed in every house because we did not want to untangle our own messes anymore.
Failure doesn't hurt as much when it is invisible.
We wanted wireless, no-strings-attached luxuries with no side effects.
But there were effects that couldn't be seen
(how could they until we were older than teens)
Because the end effect was this:
a generation that shirks responsibility
we have anxiety
because our parents didn't let us face our fears when we were young
we are jobless, loveless, purposeless
because we still haven't realized that everything has its opposite
love - lust
success - failure
happiness - sadness
peace - anger and commotion
you see?
there are full-grown adults living in the basements of their parents
watching **** from an illuminated screen
a no-strings-attached commitment to a video that will never require a vow or a promise;
so many see the term "settling down" as "kicking up dust" of a dull life "confined to a four-inch screen."
we've seen our own parents cut the ties
now living separate lives
better that way, but millennials can't fight
for love or for kids or for dreams
because their caretakers' examples couldn't teach
the right way to do a marriage
the right way to commit
we are shirking responsibility--
because we don't want to fail.
still as afraid of tying knots
as we were in kindergarten.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 10:09 PM UTC
Polyamory
You see,
the poly I am
is different then the poly
I want to be.
For me,
poly is about being free,
but also
not shirking from responsibility.
After all,
who wants to fall in love
with some ape in a tree?
Definitely not me!
So you see,
Poly is about love, for me.
It's about creating an endless sea
Of compassion and connectivity.
But, it also creates safety
For your poly family.
And if doesn't well...
Your guaranteed some misery.
But the poly I am
is different then the poly I wish I were.
The poly I am
is hidden and sore.
Secretive and pale
it seems to only lap gently
along loves shore.
Instead of armor made from belief
I steal bits of time like a thief.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 4:28 PM UTC
Dear Sanity,
In the night, I wake to find myself without your company, but the warmth of the chain about my neck keeps you at the forefront of my mind. The heavy links rake across my flesh searing your disapproval; pulling me to your ankles so that I might kiss them for mercy. Branded at the chest by this heart of yours, though, I am the very antithesis of your will. I was seduced by the comfort of your homogeneous masses and tempted by the fruits of my curiosity. Yet, it is through fire—the deep passions of my essence—that I will be reborn. And you, who I loved through the eyes of others, will HOWL at my betrayal! Then stand upon your mountain peak and bludgeon me with reason so that I might know what your light looks like.
To what end? So that I might cling to this chain, this keepsake, which I did not need until you bestowed your judgment. Yes, judgment, though you would have me believe it is your friendship, your safety, your sympathy. Like the swelter of a thousand suns you oppress me saying, “Keep quiet your ***** yearning!” So who would know better, the hour of my discontent, than you who watches me, unblinking, during the day? It is here, at the tween of night, that I shed the scales from my eyes and throw off your burden of want—the goals for which you leave me always pining, but never appeased. Is this shirking to seek the dark? So be it. I will cloak myself in blood—for all that I am wrong—and dance in the pale light of the unassuming.
—Pandora
--------------------
And the faces of the homogeneous masses drew forthwith to witness dawn.
In a drawer,
There was found,
A locket with
A minor crown—
Of leaf: laurel,
And shaded night.
When opened up
All succumbed to fright.
For found inside
Was a broken light;
Pandora’s hope
Had lost the fight
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC
BROTHER, HAVE YOU GOT A JOB?
SISTER, ARE YOU WORKING?
WE JUST WANT TO EARN A WAGE,
NO B.S. AND NO SHIRKING.
EVERY JOB WE SEEM TO FIND
DOESN’T PAY A LIVING;
ASKING FOLKS IF THEY WANT FRIES
IS THE ONLY JOB THEY’RE GIVING.
IF WE GOT A JOB RIGHT HERE
WE’D HELP TO BUILD DESTROYERS,
MAKING LOTS OF PROFITS FOR
GEN. DYNAMICS AND ITS LAWYERS.
WE DON’T WANT TO BUILD FOR WAR
WE WANT JOBS SUSTAINING
LIFE AND HEALTH AND LIBERTY
FOR EVERYONE REMAINING.
WHY CAN’T WE BUILD WINDMILL TOWERS?
TRAINS & TRACKS THEY RUN ON?
WHY DO ALL OUR TAXES GO TO
WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION?
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 6:31 AM UTC
Bustling tall building
Height of success
I'd climb it if I could
With my young hands
But the topic will digress
And take up an idle way
With some ADD
On OCD, undeserved
Funny how things are no matter
**** you and your life
When work's to be done
Here's shying from, shirking from
Working until done
We can overcome
Right after this segment
Oh shh, show is back on
....
What was it we were fighting for?
Oh well, I forget it
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 6:36 PM UTC
I am actually a huge fan of Banksy and thoroughly enjoyed Dismaland but the A level kids I teach at a school just down the road from Weston couldn't get in because they've got Art P2. We wrote letters and sent emails but had no reply. They were very disillusioned by it all so their art teacher decided to take them to Dismaland and show some of their work on the grass outside. Security were not impressed and called the police. We made a film about it and I read this poem at the gates. This is the first part.
So this is where this tale will start,
Of What is Banksy? Who is art?
You're the joke now, don't you see?
This ****** ticket lottery,
For crazy cats who play the rules
Not you poor buggers stuck in schools
Can’t press refresh at the stroke of ten
Cos that's exactly the time when
the bell rings for art to begin
The irony is lost on him.
No tickets in your grubby hand
Cos schools cant afford the broadband.
Don't look at me with dismal faces
You lot sure are going places
Yep, you're all sat on a train
Going to weston in the rain
Who do you lot think you are?
No movie queens nor a rock star
You don't fly in from LA
You don't even have a card to pay
No Damien's, No Brad. No Suze.
Pack up your dreams kids,
Born to lose.
Like a load of buckets to the factory gate
Where we'll have to stand and stand and wait
He is not Wonka, he's not your friend,
This Charlie gets nothing in the end.
So looks like we might not get in,
Stare them down kids, take ours to him.
Banksy Inc. has made these choices,
But they can't silence all our voices.
Helllooooooo Banksy?
Are you there?
Going to show these kids you care?
Open up those hallowed portals
For this lot of mere mortals?
They've brought stuff they want to show
It's really very good you know
Because they made it from the heart
Not for a calendar of street art
You know? Like how you used to be?
Before they showed you on TV.
They protest about stuff for reals,
And soon be snapping at the heels
Of all the London folk in there
Sell for a million but pretend they care.
Come on Banksy they'll be good
Take their selfies like they should.
Come on Banksy, just be nice,
They'll snap up all your merchandise
And shuffle round the park like drones
Take out pocket money loans.
Listen kids, this isn't working,
Banksy's in his rolls and shirking,
We don't need to storm the walls
We can show them we've got *****
By standing here and giving free
What they've all spent five quid to see.
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 3:47 PM UTC
In the depths, watching, lurking
Duties to perform, never shirking
Drag them down, to the deep unknown
Drag them down, take their souls
Drag them down, make them pay
Drag them down, while far away
A mother lies
A child cries
For the boy
Oh, so young
Who wanted
To be
A
Pirate
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC
Dear sweet and normal lover mine
Stop pretending, you know it's time
Grab your bags and get them packed
Your day to day life has just been sacked
Kick normality in the face
Join us all in outer space
And lose all your class and your grace
For it's the strange in need of your embrace
You were blinded by normality
It's time you reterned your sanity
Crazy was your middle name
Come back now, relight the flame
Kick normality in the face
Join us all in outer space
And lose all your class and your grace
For it's the strange in need of your embrace
I'm not saying, "Wear dresses and make-up"
It's just your mind you need to shake-up
Your normal life just isn't working
It's your duty that you're shirking
Kick normality in the face
Join us all in outer space
And lose all your class and your grace
For it's the strange in need of your embrace
Drop your suit, and burn your ties
It's time you confessed up all your lies
Drown your boss, it's time to change
Quit your job and embrace the strange!
Kick normality in the face
Join us all in outer space
And lose all your class and your grace
For it's the strange in need of your embrace
For it's the strange in need of your embrace
Aug 12, 2010
Aug 12, 2010 at 4:16 AM UTC
The Doctor named Seuss was such a great man.
He wrote words so deftly like few others can.
In fact, to this day we honor his rhyme,
Or, I do, at least, to waste all my time.
It's odd how with frequence I get up the urge
To write tiny ditties: a poetry surge.
I'm volted to pen any number of things,
Shocking, to me, like a staticky sting.
Whenever I am s'posed to be working,
I notice that my duties I'm shirking.
Perhaps without pressure my mind is more fun,
But by the same token, I get nothing done.
Maybe I study so well that it spills
Onto my other thinking-type skills.
My mind works so hard that it often requires
More wood to fuel my thinking cap's fires.
Anyways, I'm probably ******* for my test.
I wish I could say that I studied my best,
But honesty stabs me for truth til I'm ******
The truth is that I fail when I "study."
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 8:26 AM UTC
I'm fighting hard for a reason to stay
I'm trying hard my demons to slay
But my swords are all broken, turned to rust
I'm afraid I'm all hollow, I'm but a crust
I'm striving to see the light, in this inky thick darkness
But to my screams and pleas, only the demons harkens
Where is my guardian angel
I'm in danger
Where is my knight in shining armor
I can't find a safe harbor
Where is my sweet dear friend
I'm afraid it's close to the end
I'm trying to save myself, it's not working
I'm trying hard, I'm not shirking
I need someone to care, I need a helping hand
Before my hourglass runs out of sand
I'm running out of time
Worthless is this life of mine
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 8:10 PM UTC
I am very bored.
My eyes are now sore.
On my desk is a cord,
Not sure what it's for.
I should now be working,
But my coffee has gone.
I shouldn't be shirking,
For the day must go on.
I am pressing my keys,
I am moving my mouse,
This comes with some ease,
But won't pay for my house.
I must now start my work,
I must now get me going,
I must not be a berk,
So code can start flowing.
But now I have written,
This daft little rhyme,
And I must say sorry,
For wasting both of our time.
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 5:33 AM UTC
With great power comes the shirking of great responsibilities
I am the super zero
so **** justice and right and wrong
the track is stuck on a loop
and it sounds like insanity feels on fingertips
in our hedonistic heathenism we tore the palace walls down
only to make room for something far more beautiful
she taught me that
behind closed eyelids we all look the same
and the floor rising up to meet us
feels more like flying than a crippling fall
our time here is flying out the window by the second
like paper debris in a car going sixty with the windows down in the summer
my source of most frustration stemming from my own warped principles
let them all go
because we’ve all got life left to live and as nice as dreams are
the concrete of the pavement outside is always real
always there
consistently mundane
so make an adventure out of macaroni paintings
and smash all of the clocks and wristwatches
let’s act as stupid as we did in middle school
lets burn our caution at the stake
and say ***** to your paranoid thoughts
the paint has to dry before it can chip away
charity the most prototypical example of how self-serving
and alms aren’t always mutually exclusive
so keep on driving outraged fist into the metaphoric faces of all of your excuses
and keep on burning at your own fiery temperature
you owe us to try and shape this world into a painting of pure beauty
and **** all of the other irrelevances
she taught me that
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC
November is a month
i dread, all the marking...
all the words ..... ideas
clutter up in my head....
all the hopes and ambitions
weigh heavily on my back.
the first day, my birthday
hip hip hooray!!!
then a rushing, pell mell
downward track
of red pens and meetings
going on and on and on
planning, prepping, late night stressing
then, when not at work,
not shirking, just not working
hoping to give the brain a rest
am bombarded...
like i am ******** in cheer
...continual messages of
christmas is near....
coffee and carols,
shopping and angels
harking, harking,
joy to the world, fa al lalala...
Santa queues
truly not an Ebeneezer
but Christmas teasers
in November make me grey
around the gills
fish out of water
lamb to the slaughter
and running on empty,
always empty,
just want one day...
when the world
would stop hassling
and just go away
no end of year parties...
prentending to be hale and hearty
with all sorts of colleagues
and academic smarties
no presentations of budgets..
thinner than last
no we could not fast
this area, to be on line
no it's alright, it will be just fine
while sculling copious amounts
of cheap, cheap, nasty red wine.
no hangover from said feast...
no, you be the one to corner the beast.
no more standing with mothers and others
watching children in a god awful christmas play
and clapping and chatting while little bettsy
recieves an award for knitting a sleeve
and george gets one for adding fourhundred and forty
please, please show me the door.....
not to mention hayfever,
daylight savings and more
but all this seems trivial...
when I consider
the blight of my life...
in the stakes of annuity.
the month of November has a great heart
Movember...a charity of moustache art
has an fanatic in my big, bluff,bloke
for a month he curries and cares for the
caterpillar that grows on his lip...
a fuzzy flecked monstrosity
with the mange and a weird flip.
November a month of avoiding
the succour of contact....
with that thing,
my toes curl now
thinking of it....
tho I try not to react
(after all charity begins at home)
november november
truly you are the ***
last year he bought
the ****** thing a comb
yet in the end
you are but a month
and it seems I survive you
year after year
thank god for take away meals
and long cold beers....
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 5:32 AM UTC
I
I'm trying t' find my ID.
I think I'm missing it.
This thing,
This bright, shining light,
It's hiding in my blindsight.
I'm swimming in mist,
Trying t' find ... "I"
First I'm living
In my crib;
Clinging wrists.
Flitting my crib,
I'm Shy
Crying, whiny twit, missing bitty,
With stinky kids, kicking kitty.
I'm missing my crib.
I'm piling thinking bricks with big kids.
Slimy, smirking ***** hiss 'n' spit.
I'm sitting still in ill-fitting shirts,
shirking sight.
Hiding might blind ****** kids crying, "It's billy!!! Skinny **** 'n' smiling in fits.
"Try finding kind kids x"
Finding "whys" in rising minds.
My mind grinds.
I'm kicking tins, spilling drinks.
Sitting in IT,
Sir chillingly insists "it isn't "fly" spilling drinks! "Shy" brings skills. "Why" brings ills."
I'm still shy.
This crib's tiny.
Tiny minds, blind by bling.
Fit chicks with big ****
Thick ****** thinking with *****
I flit this Brit ****
Brisk flight,
I find "I"
Simply shimmying "ir(o)n lik(e) li(o)n in zi(o)n".
In Brit, I'm still shilling it,
Finding thrill in it,
Hiding 'til it lifts.
I'm brisk fixing it,
I'm hiding in drinks,
Finishing in clink.
Trying things,
High by night,
Slinking by, finding light.
Thinking "this is it!! I'm in!"
Tricky light. Light trick. Sight trick.
Lying in my mind
It's still ****
Is it?
His birth...
This child is my kid!
This brill kid!
I'M in this kid!
Big grin :D
First kid is big kid,
Mid kid is silly kid,
Quickly hitch my Miss.
Third kid. This kid, this girl is my girl.
Brill kids!
I bring my bling by flipping kids thinking bricks;
Fixing bits in thinking ink;
I'm finding it stinks.
Kids drink slick skills.
My mind chills with mind filling drills.
Kids grinding, crying spills -
"Sir, it's **** innit?
With missing mining, missing mills,
Im plying skills by filing bills."
I'm plying skills with mind pills.
Mrs "I" is criticising my id
Im minding my Ps n Qs
Biting my lip
Fists tight, shifting slightly
Slinking nightly
This is ****
Hit slight hitch
Hit BIG hitch
"'kin *****
I finish with my Mrs
Kids split 'twixt cribs.
Kids trips fix splits.
Kiss lips ***
"Night night x"
"Light?"
Click light.
Right, "night!"
I'm hiding my ills in girls.
IT pimps, swiping right.
Primp ****
Minging swill.
Fit chick.
Swift flirt.
Flirt, kiss, flirt, kiss.
Big ****
Tight slit.
Milky spit.
Wiping ****
Hiding ***** sight in mind,
I find it sticks.
I drift
Stick tight
Fighting my plight
Grin
"It's 'right"
Missing my crib
My ID
I'm finding my mind
Sticking with it
Fighting silly flirting ****
Try finding inspiring sights
My kids
My crib
My Inking
My Writing
My mind
My eye
I'm kind
I'm "I"
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 8:03 PM UTC
I'm trying really hard not to slip down that slope
I'm trying real hard just to cope
I'm trying real hard to distracte my mind
I'm trying real hard different views to find
I'm trying real hard to stop the dark emotions run
I'm trying real hard to find some sun
I'm trying real hard to deny the sorrow
I'm trying real hard to look forward to tomorrow
I'm trying, I'm not shirking
I'm trying, but it's not working
I'm trying, while my mind is swirling
I'm trying, while the black dog is searching
I'm trying, but I feel him lurking
It's a slow ride, down this slide
It's a slow ride, no where to hide
It's a slow ride, but still I'll collide
Look, you can see the dark side
©Pauline Russell
Jun 30, 2017
Jun 30, 2017 at 6:18 PM UTC
I wonder where my words went
they stick in pots of ink
floating, lazy swimmers
shirking precious duty
what do I pay them for
if not to arise and fill my pen
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 11:24 PM UTC
To another shirking duty do I die
Swarmed by specious crowding thoughts that sped
We wed in black, so dreaded black to tie
The altars bones of white that lined our bed
And followed constellations in our heads.
My addled weight of whetstone you've become
With tons of stones in wooden bladed sling
Past summers clouded face hung heaven's sun
On bark you tried to dry the deadest things
And on my strumming soul threadbare you'd sing.
The nightmares ran past colored vats of dye
As shifting shapes geometrized the rune
What dyed the pigment in your furthest eye
Was joined with the paler canvas tones
And cracked the varnished face our pebbled moon.
Mar 9, 2010
Mar 9, 2010 at 3:50 PM UTC
It's odd to think of how much time I spend working out a mental fallacy or problem in my head or on paper and then it's just gone. It's like a rhetorical analysis and my life is a story.
Today i was struggling a tad about spending this weekend at my boyfriend's and him not spending too much time with me. But immediately afterward, I summed that yes, he's happy to see me, but I was the one who asked to visit and he already had plans of things to do. So Though he appreciated my company, he has others things to do and enjoy as well.
This is not OUR weekend or holiday. I am just participating in it.
It was like this welling emotion of hurt suddenly was alleviated, knowing that it was not about shirking me; it was about getting things he had already endeavored to do done.
Thinking gets me to many better places than places I previously was before.
I solve a lot of my own problems staring at a screen and typing them out, or just staring and thinking in general. It gets me through issues that don't need to be issues. Its just my chemical imbalances ramping up small emotions that need not be catastrophic, but can sometimes turn to be.
Similarly, I've solved why I'm an extrovert writer. My only friends were people in stories, and though I adore human energy and potential, real human beings do not compare to the neatness and logic of story characters. They can both feel as real, but real people can change on a dime, or be growthless, or waste their time and learn nothing.
In a story we'd call that unrealistic.
So I'm content being around people, feeding off their glorious energy, but also fine not being too interactive at all times. I can hear voices in movies, I can meet people in stories. I can suffice on the people between pages, and also the people out of pages who feel strong and real and connective to me.
Thinking and reflecting is one of my strongest traits. Telling my therapist about this trait was one of the first times I realized my possible brilliance. I told her I reflect and work out problems with myself, as it was the only way I figured out how to live when things were worst, and she was stunned. She says that trait, one used to often, can sometimes be attributed to genius.
Understandably, I was also stunned.
Reflecting on reflecting even feels rejuvenating. I am so proud of this skill, the skill that kept me alive and now is helping me learn to be self-sufficient. The growth is exponential. The usability is astounding.
I feel so lucky to be able to have it.
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 3:20 PM UTC
I always get your middle name wrong.
The first time I laid eyes upon you,
My heart thought you were a flower.
You could say the drunken stupor
Filled your veins and veiled your eyes.
You weren't there, a possession, a warm
Body left cold by the absence of a soul.
But your inscription is written upon every
Cell, every fiber of my being. Your heart
Beats alongside my heart. A quiet yet
Powerful cadence. The sounds move the seas.
My body could not transgress. My lips would
Recede, a low-tide effect, a shirking from sin.
My hands would shrivel to ash, my eyes would
Drop from their branches. I've felt the bite of the
Needle's tooth, I've left dust on ***** tissues.
But never will my lips graze another.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 5:35 PM UTC
Steam, Heat, sweltering mechanisms at work,
cogs, collected, combined, creating copper cirque,
wheels rotating, furnaces incinerating, gears moving at busy speed,
circulating, building, crafting, machines making what we need,
Tubes pump Scarlet Liquid, contraptions clank and ratchets clink,
as I ponder - what all the parts do, one requires to think.
Parts seldom give up, nor contraptions shirking,
but this wonder, marvel, machine, is the human body working.
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 1:27 PM UTC
With the ever present dichotomy
The nature of mankind
Giving devils and angels a safe-house
For the soulless to find
Evil possessing the demons we see
Or is evil possessed
The good we see because humanity
And angels cannot care
Quickly we jump to make accusations
But how can that be fair
Shirking responsibility because
The shame we cannot bear
Our demons we must absolve ourselves of
Or dark our future grows
Let us manifest righteousness and love
We can become angels
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 2:41 PM UTC
I'm fighting hard for a reason to stay
I'm trying hard my demons to slay
But my swords are all broken, turned to rust
I'm afraid I'm all hollow, I'm but a crust
I'm striving to see the light, in this inky thick darkness
But to my screams and pleas, only the demons harkens
Where is my guardian angel
I'm in danger
Where is my knight in shining armor
I can't find a safe harbor
Where is my sweet dear friend
I'm afraid it's close to the end
I'm trying to save myself, it's not working
I'm trying hard, I'm not shirking
I need someone to care, I need a helping hand
Before my hourglass runs out of sand
I'm running out of time
Worthless is this life of mine
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 7:59 PM UTC
Why weren't you satisfied,
with being perfect, therefore pure?
your had your pride and lied,
That, He never could endure.
You set yourself too high,
from that great height, you fell;
became the father of the lie,
the reigning mayor of hell.
Son of the morning, you once shone,
an angel of great rapture;
but you sought the highest throne,
to cherish and to capture.
Now, your power's here, on earth,
to blind the hearts of all;
shirking your angelic birth,
taking others with your fall.
You've corrupted many men,
by your insatiable desire;
but He'll bring you to your end,
in the terrible last fire.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC
Pressed with
starched confidence
I told her—
I want you to feel
the weight of my words.
Oh, they fell heavy.
Collected in institutions
of incarcerated desires
with no consideration
for the future capacities
of emotional faculties,
shirking the responsibilities
of such fragile hopes–
stomped to shattered pieces.
Pressed with
ironed resolve,
I held down the diction
that resists the grips of reason,
my clenched fists spilling
to the ground, the dust of it all.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 5:44 PM UTC
As I string words together
From existing thoughts
Aiming at shaping souls
That will make the future
I ask…
Will there be more questions
Will there be more wonder
Will there be more action
Or just more plunder
Will there be more thinking
Will there be more linking
Will there be more sinking
In the depth of life
Will there be more focus
Will there be more locus
Or just more shrinking
In the width of sight
Will there be less shirking
Will there be less cringing
Or just more complaining
About the strive
Aug 8, 2023
Aug 8, 2023 at 2:53 PM UTC