"strugglers" poems
only wanted to enjoy the same unusual things
with like-minded people
the concierge of dystopia fnording *******
messing around with the octopus
cyberpunk nightmare with blue sky
expect a deluge and then wonder what happened to it
evaporated anxiety due for a downpour
catacombs rented by the hour
she typically cares about those
who don't care about her
abandoning me without consequence
don't ever come back
ungrateful swine of nowhere!
loyalty exists only in a parallel universe
where they locked themselves up
and destroyed the key
they feed the rich and ignore the poor
in the end the strugglers will prevail
and the ones who had it easy will suffer
game shows that punish the ignorant
rage that never ends
scoring infinite points in basketball
and still losing the game
only wanted to enjoy the same unusual things
with like-minded people
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
This is for the rainy days.
The heavy days,
Blanketed under a dark silver sky.
This is an image of
Timeless days.
Where both dawn and dusk
Fail to exist,
Because the gray never went away.
This is the light drizzle
Painting your glasses
With tiny cloudy droplets
That blur-out your vision
And makes the next step a mystery,,
As you pray
For a chance of sunshine.
This is for the helpless days.
Lonely days.
Where with every battle
Pits you against the world.
And should you lose,
Or should you win,
Your victory is heard
by only two ears.
These are the words for the
Mouse-like people.
The great number of quiet strugglers
Who say yes to the fat cat
By Instinct!
So they won't be the meat
Of someone else's meal.
\ \ \
But this is not to cast you down.
Not a giant- making pinching gestures
With people sized fingers.
This is a challenge!
A day to reach up into
Your oppressive heavens.
Cast aside the disciplinary
Blockade and- Breathe.
Breathe in the tastes
Of a life worth living.
Of the courage to be on your own feet.
And this is an urgency.
This is an urging that
All the doormat people
Sweep out from the heavy feet,
The ones you welcome for trampling.
Because|
-You know exactly what you're
Missing
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 10:40 PM UTC
The teacher's eyes gathered colours about
The cultured garden scene she knew so well;
She likes the section flowers nicely sprout
Her hidden world where varying colours jell.
Achievers pride she takes with all her heart;
Like outstanding pupils she proudly groomed.
But scrappy lazy ones, never seems to start,
She wished them luck and left alone to bloom.
The sun regardless shines on all juniors.
The bright ones, the brats she pitied a lot.
Through years and wise by age she remembers,
Oft visiting her those she had forgot,
Those she loved and cared have whittled away.
But strugglers now trees they weathered to stay.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 9:54 PM UTC
the newbie failure complex(ity)
the poems come torrentially,
hurricane, waterfall & tornado are working adjectives
worthy of the task, yet unequal to the unlimited army
of the written dead of unread poems and poets
that occupy the nether of blog, podcast, and poetry sites,
orphan stars in the un-salvaged junkyard galaxy of verbiage
a faceless wight, once alive, now permanently dead,
we shuffle march, chanting each our own newbie poem,
onward soldiers to ignominy and glory so fleeting,
we are forgot before we are remembered
*this is life in poetry,
or better yet,
the worst of it, (sigh)
this is the poetry of lives*
all for nought,
nought for all,
at least we pass our prison time
in the company of fellow strugglers*
May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 5:44 PM UTC
Challenges punctuate our lives with question marks.
We ask ourselves, “How long?” So we dream.
We wonder about each other. So we believe.
We concern ourselves with each other’s welfare. So we pray.
We doubt our wisdom. So we trust our hearts.
We second guess ourselves. So we act in faith.
We question our tomorrow. So we cherish the present.
We fear the question marks that have punctuated our lives.
So we build walls;
Walls to hide from our fear, walls to hide from our frustration,
And walls to hide from our feelings.
Let us never build walls that would cut us off from the world,
Or from each other.
Within the circle of our fellow strugglers,
Our thoughts are punctuated with fewer question marks,
And from time to time - a simple period.
Here with each other, it's not as difficult to wait for the answer.
And the walls don't seem as challenging to climb.
Whatever our question,
We can dare each other to dream.
And in this time of testing, we can hope for the answer,
An answer that will be different for every one of us.
An answer that punctuates each of our lives
With an exclamation point!
©2014 Michael S. Davis
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
Weather tight
mist roaming over
ineptitudes follows
waterfalls and serpentines.
All would be good with crampons, boots and fleece,
if prior instructions were followed
but with a misfit Meetup group
half are experienced
the rest are the stuff of strugglers
break or make every one of them
on the Brecon Beacons
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 4:03 PM UTC
Souls wandering, Midnight Mass
Rescued hearts, craving less distress
Willing participants, for Gods graces
Sinner or saint, all worth measured
Through the extent to which they
Carry this life
Dreamers & wishers, take a backseat
The strugglers making confessions
Their first feeble steps, starts at one
Plea forgiveness from those
They hurt or betrayed, when they took
This path, to not be with another
Or at one with the life around them
Never in life, will we know another
Truly know all of them, exposed
Even secrets kept safe, between lovers
Parted kisses & naked skin
Flesh on flesh keep them together
How could she know it would
Ever come to this
Walking out the door for his next score
He swore he was done
Baby tears crying into his mummies
Eyes, promises made, broken only
Hours later, leaving mother & child
Losing his family, she remained his last
Hope, those wandering souls
Lost in Midnight Mass
A fall from grace, cupids arrow
Wrapped with a bow
Then later the bundle from heaven
That kept daddy in those meetings
Counting the steps, bronze chip
Sobriety for a year, lost the day the
Door banged behind him
Denial his confidant, only friend
Left behind a mummy cried
Holding their only son
Crack ******* **** or smack
Choose your sin, lose a life
She knew
He knew
This baby was all that was left
With no sign
Or clue.
© Sia Jane
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 8:52 PM UTC
Flickering fires, dim candlelight
Barely pierce the chill Winter night
In a world of toil with no hope of change
Life is a trial down Strugglers Lane
Endless worry is their lot
The only rest is when they drop
Nothing but hardship mingled with pain
That's what's on offer down Strugglers Lane
No escape, nowhere to go
Best do a deal with the devil you know
Nothing comes easy, it's always the same
That's how it is down Strugglers Lane
If you find yourself anywhere near
Heed my advice, stay well clear
Turn right around, go back again
Don't take the sign to Strugglers Lane
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
I imagine a fighting arena
Huge and closed.
In one cornered space
Tower Hegemonic Forces
Champions of dominant culture.
In other corners,
Trending,
Waxing,
Waning,
Anxious for their turn
To test their powers
Crouch the Up and Comers,
Ever-hungry crowds of Up and Comers.
Traction is slippery
On this tenuous battlefield;
Spittle and catarrh;
Blood, sweat, tears;
**** and *****
Fluid proof of bodies
Denied a single humanity,
Mingle to confound
Desperate din of strugglers,
Seeking clear divisions to conquer.
On-lookers, deafened in cacophony,
Cannot see the uselessness.
Careful observers
Can but surmise what the prize
Desired might be,
But always there is the struggle.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 8:12 PM UTC
Dreamers, sleepwalkers,
in a land of shadows and chimeras,
Buddhas, who seek the Buddha,
yearners, strugglers, dying persons.
Still with the last breath
hovered around from mists,
through the woods the morning star shines,
the red blood flows out of the heart,
that there beats and will beating eternally.
Dreamers, sleepwalkers,
sparks of light from nowhere,
like lightnings flashing through the universe,
again go out in the nowhere,
which lays its blackness comforting and motherly
yet at the last sigh around us.
Life, which, forgetting itself,
sees itself in the empty mirror
and doesn’t know, that the mirror
is in every fiber of its being
- not here or there
and beyond the great gate of the here,
through which it becomes itself
on the middle of the threshold a gateless gate.
Dreamers, sleepwalkers,
- A thunderclap!
A fall from heaven to earth!
A cry from earth to heaven!
An inconceivable moment of glory!
And only peace – unpronounceable holy…
© Barbara-Paraprem, 2014
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
Classes start today; summer's met its end,
The books lie waiting once again upon the shelf
To share the lie that education is the path for everyone
To happiness and wealth.
Those who will and those who won't succeed
File in and settle down, day one,
Segregated, aggregated in their rows of need,
Stamped by labels and by scores.
The gauntlet lies before them:
Papers, deadlines, speeches, tests
To find the laurel winners.
And to **** the needy rest.
"Success is counted sweetest by those who ne'er succeed,"
Old Emily once said, and she'd be right to say it once again
About the battlefields in every school I've been.
This fall I'm taking time to hear
My students' goals and dreams,
Their challenges and hopes,
To say "I see you with my eyes."
I hope to see their hopes arise.
The race is to the steady, Aesop said,
The plodders beat the plotters in their way,
If we who have the gate keys in our hands
Encourage strugglers to stay.
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 8:18 AM UTC
~~~
someday soon gonna reread
the four figures of my
poems over lifetime inked,
divvy them up by what each is about,
assemblage of
the themes of me
review the who what when and weird
of this guy through his own eyes
multiplying confessions
of graces and disgraces
particular to recover,
desirous of collecting those poems that:
*valorize society’s strugglers
and stragglers...humans doing the work of living*^
don't know how many will be uncovered,
but here's hoping there are plenty,
needy of recovery and uncovering the poet
and worthy of pointing too,
valuation markers of a
decent human
strugglers, stragglers,
those from all over this world
and lives that can only visualize
no-horizon-in-sight oceans
sailors, from ports unvisited,
some even, still undiscovered,
working ****** and women,
not those,
don't owners
of fancy dress whites,
topped of by jaunty angelic-angled caps
the ones I sought and seek,
grime and coal dust etched into
every ****** crevice, ink under fingernails,
in obscurity, toil in windowless engine rooms,
in the nooks in libraries hiding,
satisfied with
a moment of glory,
and a lasting
hand upon
their wracked minds
these are my mates,
sharing fates
of woeful countenances
of bruised bodies,
recipients of hardest blows repetitious,
comrades in open arms
the unflavored, unfavored of
sons and daughters,
unblessed with sobs and smacks,
who rare lift the head in hope
the sufferers of ignominy
of the
prison of their existence,
for those I write,
have, will, and willing
to do it till I see a
chin rising, white of eyes gleaming,
a hand delisted,
arms defused of black weights
come to me,
words, encouragement, perspective,
that this too shall pass
believing ain't easy,
take it from one who couldn't see
happy endings, but had no choice but
to choose to,
now prepped, ready
for my arms to do some serious uplifting,
shoulders heavy-loaded and wide of loads,
eager for honest work,
aiding and abetting
the stragglers and and stragglers...
humans doing the work of living,
deserving for valuation,
awaiting their salutation,
and relief, even if,
tiny and small,
a slim volume of poems,
that but one
poet
provided
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 8:47 AM UTC
I found Him in most unusual places on earth
where I least expect Him to be.
I found Him
in the heart of **********
in the dikr of a reeking alcoholic
in the fury of burglar
in a wish of a gambler regardless of the content
I found Him everywhere and yet no where
in repentence and pride;
in sanctified matrimoney and an illegal intimacy;
in heart of believers and strugglers;
in melt of an ice, molding in the shape of its base boasting to be submissive in its act and in fire offering just the opposite: submission of everuthing rewarding them by turning in to ashes;
I found him in every little thing and mystics;
in canvases and waterfalls;
in art and ruins;
in earth and sky;
in filth and dirt;
in mansions and huts
I found Him by seeking Him not by searching HiM
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 3:44 AM UTC
*Finally known Myself;
I am a soldier of time,
Only the conquest of life,
Aboard the ship to Hell.
Finally known the World;
They all aren't players,
Only the cargo here,
Aboard the ship to Hell..
Finally known You;
You weren't the Angel,
Only a mirage of one,
Aboard the ship to Hell...
For I'm one among the few;
Who struggle this way,
Only the best ones survive,
Aboard the ship to Hell....
Because the World is preferential;
To winners & not strugglers,
Only the winners'd thrive,
Aboard the ship to Hell.....
And You were just like them all;
To me gave a sweet deception,
Only to leave me alone here,
Aboard the ship to Hell......
But in the end all of the World joins me;
To the trip of time in the ship to hell,
Only after serving their sentence,
Aboard the ship to Hell.......*
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 8:10 AM UTC
Live your Life as you wish -->
Don't blame me!
Blame the *****
She's the One that yeah's and neigh's,
Selects the combos, gamete-style;
Foresees the potentiality
Of a Universe before the making.
Her Will --> I'll execute!
Protect to incubate the great,
While looking after the lost -->
Those unlucky to be born normal;
Those strugglers battling idiocy
At all levels of authority.
I'll float freely betwixt strata -
Popping in and out of existence
As necessary; as needs dictate;
As She dictates (- the subtle cow).
I'll plod along, head in the sand,
Trying to figure out the sound;
Stringing along and strung out,
Helping myself and lending a hand.
And when I meet Her...if I do...
I'll tell Her you send Your Regards.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
In the end
our destiny's the same
to fade away and dissipate
like thoughtless flowing grains.
A relic gestalt masterwork
For strugglers working in vain.
In the end
we embrace the storm
and fill our lungs with rain.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 1:48 PM UTC
When hardened hearts ignore the plaintive tears
Of those who are invisible yet present,
They disregard the strugglers' hopes and fears
And make a situation more unpleasant.
Many suffer hazardous conditions
And work that earns a pittance but still brings
A lifestyle that won't **** their true ambitions.
How dare we think that they all live like kings!
Imagine living daily with the terror
Or harsh presentiment--with stress and pain--
Of knowing that despite abuse or error,
Your hands are tied, for you cannot complain.
Your life becomes a sad catch-22.
To keep on going is all that you can do.
Imagine fleeing poverty and war
And frightful acts of cruel persecution.
Your life at least is better than before,
But you await a permanent solution.
Your kids are now American at heart,
But jobs and college cause much consternation.
You work two jobs; you try to do your part;
Yet there's the constant threat of deportation.
When people turn their heads and look away,
A blaze of cruel injustice wildly rages.
The ones affected most can have no say
In how to fix what's NOT worked well for ages.
Solutions lacking heart are cold and numbing
And demonstrate how ugly we're becoming.
- by Bob B (2-23-17)
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 12:39 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
This is for the teens that lay low and do nothing,
To the strugglers that don't really have money,
To the rich kids that don't even have a feeling,
or a care in the world for the porch monkeys,
spending money on stupid **** for a few summers,
That has friends on the track team and a front runner,
Nobody had your back all **** summer,
Just so i made it clear,
Kids are bullied everyday for other kids amusement,
cheap talk will get you killed in the streets your in,
deep feelings lay down underneath the cement,
if thats what you like , fornicate off your sin,
just looking for a purpose in the nearest sunshine,
no light shines in a coffin when you die,
suicide on your mind , telling people you'll be fine,
just so i made it clear,
isolated from the friends that you call your besties,
feeling like a third-wheel sitting in the backseat,
And before you know the day is put on repeat,
stuck on the same channel better change the t.v.
trying to find whats fake and whats real,
these people out here don't know how you feel,
you were the fool that slipped on that banana peel,
just so i made it clear,
... you were always there.
you were destined to do great things..
you were always there.
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 10:18 AM UTC
Living the codes of the streets its a hard burn,
How many brothers take the wrong turn,
Down the highway of death, instead of looking right and left,
Only options is,
Is to gang bang robbery to the petty theif,
Tryna up their reps, only to get closer steps,
To the pen, or with the fams crying, shots of another dying,
From the heat,
*********** led to another destination, the situation,
Kind of sticky, tryna avoid the sneaks like Ricky,
Just rowdy, young boys in the hood, up to no good,
But its hard to beat, when ya tryna leave the code of the streets,
And whos there to guide us,
And lord provided us,
With a taste of the garden,
Not speakin' Madison Square,
Why am I here or there,
Street hustlers, ghetto hos pushin' *** for the **** musclers,
We just strugglers, tryna make it out the slums, and how come,
We cant get ahead,
Seems like it's always tussle for bread,
I get watch by the feds,
And they ask me where i head,
Im just tryna live the next day, got double d hidden, in display,
Blended with the cops, its an everyday matrix, playin' tricks,
Im motionless, peep how many snitches will ****
On ya graved, at that same time, they say theyre saved,
While gettin' paid, see em grow, from a pinto to an Escalade,
Double mansion with a few maids,
It's like playing charades,
Cant catch cold feet,
From the rhythm of heat,when ya sinnin' the code of the streets
Feb 18, 2024
Feb 18, 2024 at 12:31 AM UTC