"supervision" poems
I never asked to be ugly
dunno why it made me so hard to like
My own peers
they killed me
while our adult supervision got high.
I had no friends when I went away
to the place mom told me
I had to go stay,
"It's a happy place," I remember she said,
"Called Camp Crystal Lake."
Sounded nice
enough at the time.
Crystal Lake. A family fave.
Nowadays, when you hear the name
You don't think of a sunshiney place
full of laughter and happy children
You think of misfortune
you think of my face
and if you think of visiting,
You better not stay
For more than a day,
Or the children will play
on your grave.
This is my home
and I'd rather be alone,
With the dead animals
and my mother's bones.
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 5:55 AM UTC
ghosts of slumber parties past.
just a haunted betamax & a stack of oreo sandwiches.
sisters braiding eachother’s hair far past the witching hour,
contemplating life without supervision.
blue house. yellow lawn.
silverback gorilla in one garage.
two garage: empty.
three garage: a woman entombed in exhaust.
[her bloated tongue]
a gang of bmx boys pizza-fed and friday-high,
hopped up on mountain dew and trading card collectible rituals ‘n rhythmics.
they conjure a demon just to **** and dismember it.
for funsies.
for keepsies.
a fang for the shrine at the foot of the old oak tree.
history on the skin, long history, long thoughts, long in the nod like a calm dead frog.
bubbled, boiled, toiled, and troubled.
the woods aren’t haunted.
you are haunted.
you are the conduit through which the darkness displays its vivid colors.
[treefort aflame]
the seasons furrow/
/ the leaves fall.
little plots of land etched out – subdivision and sprawl.
on the avenue, heaven
& hell made tame and tangible.
built, re-built, and refurbished – a lawn and a lantern.
a mortgaged glory of sparkle and decay.
[dead cat is a new cat is the old cat ran away]
pictograms of morning light display on mom’s face
as she instructs us on the gusts of love [scrambed eggs]
& teaches us the truth of nettles sprung
from violent pine.
[toast with raspberry jam]
the television.
the microwave.
the blender beverages.
hymnals of an electric kingdom.
one mom dances, the other expires.
[restless armless girls in orange sunsets]
girl with a gun at the edge of her lawn and selling lemonade.
girl in an old wicker chair.
save her horror story for another day.
boy with a bent frame bicycle limps his way home
from one end of the avenue to the other.
his pockets full of sparkly rocks found in the lime quarry pit.
one boy in a long line of lost planets.
the driveway.
the refrigerator.
the hum of a saturday night commercial-free cassette.
where’s dad?
the glow of an eerie crystal
(continued…)
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 6:18 AM UTC
You change my mind like a massive industrial factory.
Because flowers.
Supposing friendly.
What if therefore.
You crush my forethought in your mandible machinery
For after yellow.
Beside a lake.
Through crimson humility.
I melt under your molten supervision on the grandest scale
Melodic franchise.
Hypothesize sunbeams.
And if replace me.
You reorient my viewpoints on your conveyor belt of
liquidated mellow
jurisdiction.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:33 AM UTC
The world is filled with division
Resulting in endless collision
Because we fail to envision.
We only use literal vision
Without a second of indecision
We jump to rash decision
And attempt to imprison
Those who caused the division
Without giving revision
To our lack of precision.
resulting in misprision
Which only adds to collision
And the terrible decision
To access our nuclear provision
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
...
*And just like that, I was drifting again. I was slipping into the folds of static, describing the abyss as I drowned. I fell from altitudes of happy to suicidal in only a manner of insidious seconds, because that's how it goes. You think you have what it takes to be ice but in reality, you're only shattered water.
It comes when I think of them. The urge to succumb into my own ghost has never been so appealing until now. But there are visitors here, the twins grief and guilt have been uninvited guests in a home held together by dried flowers for ceilings and walls of teeth. I have learned to confuse my name with wreckage under their supervision.
The brothers tell me how to do it, how to **** myself without hurting anyone else that I love. But they only speak their diseases to me when all my fight has bled out onto the kitchen floor as the latest mosaic. Then they feast, and teach me the art of being empty through their hungry wolf bites. I remember how to breathe in a shallow way so my skeleton won't fall apart. I haven't had to do that in a very long time. Guilt reminds me the idea of shrinking is hereditary, while grief tells me it's time to practice that now.
When I want to hurt myself I want to do very strange things. I want to ask cigarettes to try to strangle my lungs with smoke as weak as a newborn. It reminds me of what is missing. The sweetest punishment is often the deadliest. When I want to hurt I pick fights with my grief or guilt just so I can lose again, just so I can keep the moon in the same spot in the sky. Just so the stars will pity the same people. I am sick, I am sick, I am sick. Welcome to the sickness, amen.
When I want to die, I rinse my soul out and leave it to dry. Like a flower that will become brittle and turn into a bookmark to mark the page where my life left off. I allow myself to deliberately stop holding the weight of the sun and I allow the sky to crush me softly.
I let the tsunamis out of their cages.
I cup his face,
he is beautiful and he is holding what remains;
I will let love hurt me in unspeakable ways,
until death too, dies.*
---"How to turn cancer into god."
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 12:10 PM UTC
Sherlock is indebted, forever;
To Mike,
For he made it possible for Holmes,
To meet the (only) friend of his life.
Oh look at John,
How baffled he was,
For he had just met a man,
About him, who knew all.
The army doctor thing, the Afghanistan war,
And that his sibling was alcoholic,
About this Sherlock was sure.
Without a word about himself,
Just the name and address,
Holmes went away,
Leaving John, with many questions,
And their answers for him to guess.
A queer flat mate, he was, a bit rude
Sherlock, you know;
Mrs. Hudson was nicer,
But not their housekeeper!
Apparently, SH would play violin to think,
Knew it was DI Lestrade at the door,
And there was another ******
Including this one, counting to four,
Without a hint.
The crime scene was sealed,
Under supervision of Donovan,
And according to Sherlock,
There was something going on,
Between her,
And Anderson.
A woman was dead,
Wore everything in pink,
Holmes deduced her marriage state,
Just by her ring!
He slammed the door at Anderson,
For he (SH) found him irritating.
“Rache is not for revenge”, Holmes said,
“She was writing Rachel, obviously”.
Left-handed she was,
And was carrying a suitcase,
But as Lestrade said,
There was never a case.
Mr. Holmes was so excited then,
He teased others to be stupid,
Watson helped him make a point,
In order to find the criminal,
But Holmes believed,
The pink case was the cupid.
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 2:03 AM UTC
House plants are hostages
we take while we rob
the bank of life for
all the experience notes we
can carry safely away.
We are using the funds
to build our vivarium
homes, microcosms of
the world beyond our walls
where we first glimpsed
the scheme.
The machinery of the world,
greased by blood and sweat,
remains beyond our control
while at large, yet
under our close supervision
we coax submission
out of our captives for
our own enjoyment:
selfish, ambivalently cruel
benefactors, dispensers of
our plants' waters of life.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 7:13 PM UTC
ive seen the world all people same
we love we fear, deprived, insane
absolute mass and no division for the HQ supervision
we are Trialed in side by solicitude at night
blindfolded OF!
superiority of those that are biting in our nose
medicating under-eighteen that appear so differently
and thus don't reap the boredom we are destined to live through
im sorry that I'm different
and I'm sorry that I speak
for the nation of the flowers
all fragile but not weak
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 7:33 PM UTC
In the blank pages
Where my feelings flow freely
Once suppressed within my heart
The ink overflows with emotions
Across the white canvas
Where the nomadic mind gets respite
From constant supervision of the world
The blank pages offer a tranquil retreat
Healing the soul of all travails
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 2:49 PM UTC
You sit at the table with your blue and yellow crayons
Quietly coloring tigers and waving the fingers of your left hand.
You proudly show your decorated notebook; the one you alone created.
Safety plans, behavior charts, conflict resolution, and coping.
You're asked if you understand rules and regulation,
The look on your face as you color a second tiger purple, tells me different.
Searches coming and searches going looking for sharps.
Supervision daily, hourly, minute by minute
How then, can this be self-harm?
You sit in the van with your ninja turtles backpack
Quietly whispering, repeating, comforting words.
You proudly show your decorated notebook; the one you alone created.
Tigers, elephants, horses, cars, houses, and nostalgia faces.
You're asked if you understand stability and foster families,
The look on your face as you chew on your shirt, tells me different.
Days gone and months in this new place
You are doing so well, so great
Bedroom upstairs in the corner
All your favorite things have their space
Tell me one thing gained here?
Saturday Morning
Pancakes
Sprinkles, and
Maple Syrup.
© Jo Tomso
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 10:27 PM UTC
The ethereal plane goes silent.
Pilot decides they are too tired to fly.
Decrease cabin pressure to decrease cabin fever.
The cousin of my cousin who is not my cousin cannot engineer a solution if not given proper tools.
Cavemen can use simple tools but are adept at clubs if you injure their hearts so let’s call a ***** a ***** we know diamonds are only rocks but forever is simply tomorrow repeating.
I can’t see what’s in the cards beyond that.
Even worse is to look at the present you gave worn each day.
Standing still a painful reminder.
Best to keep moving.
I'm in a precarious juxtaposition.
One move and the King is toppled but the Queen reigns in this game.
I shall grant our enemies no quarter, this game is free of charge.
The truth is the true blue you doesn't know what to do but the blue blood in you
requires more upkeep than that and you'll deny it until you're blue in the face.
That's enough blue clichés, especially when I'm seeing red.
Fell trees for the fires or gather the ones already fallen.
It doesn't matter, you'll still
wear multiple layers to get through the knight in shining arm morbidity.
I keep all your sugar coated spiders sealed in jars.
I'd rather they not bite me anymore either.
Outside appearances mean little when one wears so many faces.
See you on the flip side but remember on the inside I'm dying to meet you again.
I am jumbled.
I'm mixing my metaphors and metaphysics.
They promised adult supervision but I can't see clearly without glasses.
I'm like a deer caught in the dread lights.
I'm under cardiac arrest and I've been coaxed into signing a police state meant just for you.
How can I be held responsible for the consequences when everything is out of sequence, doesn't that leave me only a con?
Paradigm shift has occurred.
The door to my heart is closed.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 9:53 AM UTC
*This to inform that all of Your
Troubles and worries
Will be handled by
Yours
Truly today.
They will not be of any
Concern to You whatsoever.
Consider this a reward for
Enduring the hardships of
Lesser
And greater nature
That have occupied Your
Mind as of lately.
Today will be Your day off.
Please trust that solutions to
Every
Issue shall present themselves
Under our most competent
Supervision.
If You succeed at relaxing Your
Heart and mind towards
Surrender
And ease to a
Satisfactory degree, the relief
Mentioned above will also be
In effect for tomorrow.
Lastly, we insist that You
Re-read
This notice upon awakening
Tomorrow morning.
All is under control. It is
-If one wishes it to be-
An entirely recreational
Universe.
With unconditonal love,
-C.E.O.,
Department of Human
Affairs,
The Universe.*
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 3:52 AM UTC
Why?
Why do you have to make me feel like I’m tied down?
Tied down to your rules, your wants, and your needs.
I have choices too.
Opinions unheard, ignored, mocked.
I’m one of three daughters, yet you choose me.
The only time I’m chosen is so you can make your attempts at manipulating me,
taking any sense of freedom I should have over my future, my life, my needs.
Denying the chance to let me prove you wrong.
You may be right, I have called Wolf too many times but in this case, it’s different.
Give me the chance to prove you wrong,
to prove that I can do it.
That I can be free from this rope that holds me back from what I want.
Let me just be independent for once without the need for your so-called supervision and advice.
The advice that’s more like scolding and yelling.
Darkening my mood, deepening the depression.
Your words linger in my head for days upon days.
Have you ever taken a chance to stop and think that you may be the reason?
The reason I am so desperate to escape,
the reason I am dreaming of the day I can be independent.
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 7:37 AM UTC
Alone simmering rejected by the system
made to live without supervision.
Changes made to save the money
suppoesed to be on medical guidance.
Though not taken for over a week
somebody's life will soon be bleak.
Roaming the streets bored and confused
lack of medication beginning to tell.
In his pocket a knife he liked so much
no medical staff had made a visit.
Agitation growing he walked in a daze
a girl talking turned him out of phase.
Nobody knew what was about to happen
this young man charged knife in hand.
Slashuing and thrusting people scattered
disbelief screams and cries of pain.
Seconds passed the man overpowered
on the pavement the policeman towered.
Amazing seriously hurt but alive the victims
rushed urgently to the local hospital.
The man hancuffed taken into custody
even now he was fighting so petrified
scared and lacking his medical control
the failing system had taken its toll.
How many more are there with no support
and another avoidable tragedy to report?
The Foureyed Poet.
Jan 9, 2011
Jan 9, 2011 at 2:03 AM UTC
un-manned
armed
drone lovers
LOOKING FOR YOU!
x-ray eyes!
NO DREAM CAN ESCAPE
supreme scrutiny
and your need for
supreme supervision
for certainly
you
YIELD OR DIE
yield
to becoming
a
COMMODITY
yield to yielding
up your life
in exchange for
LIFE
the un-manned
armed
drone lovers
hover
hover.....hover
they
hover.....hover....hover
over your BED
every pulsation
every vibration
so carefully
"READ"
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 12:40 PM UTC
Snapshots,
So little to remember
Dark rooms,
A dresser against the door,
Shattered windows,
Alone and forgotten
Faces creased into frowns,
Lies, tears and terror.
In truth, just images
From a childhood I can’t remember.
A dog I loved,
Behind the couch
In his golden fur,
Sleeping to a violins melody.
Theatricality in all it’s might,
With logic forced down my throat.
A friend, a foe, an acquaintance all in one.
Six years strong, it’s a wonder we’re not done.
David Bowie to sing me through long nights,
Trapped in a fantasy world to pass by the long days,
Bare feet hard against the pavement,
With continuous failed attempts.
Forced to wear dresses, because that is what girls do,
Bought Barbies instead of Legos, because that is what girls play with,
Books about horses instead of heroes, because that is what girls read.
Dyslexia,
Bad Eye sight,
A speech impediment,
Homeschooled.
Day after day, what did it matter that I’m clever if I’m alone?
No supervision,
Plenty of judgment,
Brewed and engineered by ****
I swore I’d be different,
And so I forgot.
I forgot the life that taught me exactly what not to be.
At 18 my name will change
And these few fuzzy snapshots will fade to black.
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 6:31 PM UTC
the greatest thing man can hope to achieve
is to love his wife, and give all he can be
to show faith in no other
to sacrifice all that she could see
to never falter on his promise
to never fail on his gifts
his promises are love
and his promises are his gifts
he may never give anything more than his heart
and by the grace of god and no other
as one under gods supervision
may the two never depart
may they never surrender
under gods holy sight
may they always love
may they never give up the fight
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 12:50 AM UTC
I'm a liar.
I've been pretending this whole time, and it's a shame that no one notices.
I am sad again, and terribly lost.
I hate eating. I hate being this, being me.
I want to go back to my support at the program, I want to leave this ugly real world
and go back.
I want daily meetings and supervision. I want to feel special and important
I want to be happy.
and I'm just not.
No one notices;
not my boyfriend who's been out all night partying with his friends.
not my bestfriend who just left to Cabo.
not my mom who hasn't spoken to me in days.
not my ownself who's going ******* insane.
I need someone, anybody, everybody.
I'm alone and I hate it.
I hate every ******* thing.
is it too much to want to be loved?
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 8:14 AM UTC
a father at a table
looking at
two blocks.
his hash
mark
mind
suspended above
his image
as it flickers
between
adult supervision
and acts
of resuscitation.
his child
breathing
for blanket.
doctor’s orders
my special hat
is a dark
cloud.
spacing issues
have disappeared.
thin air is a black sheep born without a black kitten’s heart.
tell him
belief
is twice
the distance
abandonment
leaves.
that for baby longhand
a father easily
beautifies
the unburied deep.
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
This is Tina, she's my kid sister.
Over there is Joseph and Paul, they are twin siblings, our next door neighbors.
Next to them is Christy, blush she lives two streets down the street.
We are playing WHOT in my house.
Yes, Whot.
It's a card game that most parents won't let their kids play;
My dad included
But he is at work at the moment.
Dad is very strict.
Whenever he is home,
My friends aren't allowed to come over unless we are going to study, and under his supervision.
Suddenly we hear his car honking at the gate,
There's panic and turmoil in the living room.
Whot cards are flying around and empty Oreos packs are being thrown into the trash bag.
Empty juice cups are being taken to be washed in the kitchen.
There's an avalanche in here and the result is orderliness.
By the time dad steps in,
We're all settled around the study table,"reading."
Oh God, no!
There's the 20 Whot card on the table.
Dad has seen it and he is coming over.
He has a scowl on his face and I know that look; we're all getting a good beating.
The last time we were flogged, Tina wet herself.
Dad comes over, he looks at each one of us,
Then in his deep, baritone voice, he asks:
"Have you eaten?"
My shoulders sag,
I am defeated.
Today cant be April fool's day.
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 5:36 AM UTC
Number of births places of birth.
Einstein's wife was half and half
negative path started Sibele's
muses end. Luxury to speak to
the people. Death is too much
confidence, I bow south of Jupiter,
and, behold, a bold towards
the opinion of the hairs beneath
her dress, the beauty of the longest
of the objects of the covenant of the
igbafọ, the eating; the eating of the
evils of ***** 'experience of this evil.
The two things the foolish world
talked about are insane, and Brian
Lamb dares you talk about the album,
and dreams of the world. Monitor
ọmọkunrinkunrinkunrinkunrin
ọmọkunrinkunrin, young Boyfriends'
boyfriends Soozy Free land on
a premium, Bobbed Strippers;
Synchronized Kids Each Sports Cicero,
Sand optional Bettie's Imọja sale,
Each laurel Park Parrot chili tonight
tonight tonight; track Riding tonight
wood wood wood wood wood
wood smoke on the matter's face |
to smoke Latin writings marked
with temple prostitutes magi
gardens IwọSayToo Magic Image,
Instead they are born. Einstein's wife
was half and half Wall started Sibele,
the high-end. luxury talk people.
Death is very much Bowsath
strongly to Jupiter I trust trusting
the end of curls of beauty thy power,
in the habit of as long as his lieutenant,
meeting in faith and also to enhance
the in which He suffered, and died,
a presentation of an evil use.
Two fool the world and through his
Brian Lamb, I believe that you talk
about the list, and among the Romans
of the world's secondary boy
of boyfriends of Soozy's sons' Free land
on a premium, Bobbed Strippers
Synchronized, Kids start each game
with a reading from Cicero, Sandy
Center woods Bettie's Imoji sales
of Parrot chili Tonight Tonight Tonight;
This way to the tree trees
trees trees trees in the mountains
From the country's language Temple
marked with the media ****** OSayToo
in the field of Magic
II.
For them.
Einstein's wife was half and half
Wall started Sibele's end. The word luxury,
death itself; English relief Bowsath
I have confidence in the most attractive
of the charms of an end to the locks
are reliable the power of her beauty,
was the state while fears of meeting
and I will show in the faith,
in which he suffered and died
supervision hurt. The two fools in the world,
and through him I believe that Brian Lamb
talks white and between Rome life.
The child monitor; the child of Soozy
Freeland on Game Bobbed Strippers Synchronized
The race between the kids and the reading of Cicero,
Hail! Hail! Imija sales company in Bettie's name;
This page in the night, Tonight,
This tree wood for the trees in the mountains
When already marked Magic is issued
to the space alaworẹ, OSayUToo!
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 2:33 AM UTC
The first kind of carnival I encountered besides at the county fair was a huge one on the far outer reaches of the North Bronx on the way to Yonkers and White Plains call Freedomland.
I remember Disneyland and the black licorice drops there at the old time confectionary store. I hope to go to Disney World in my lifetime.
AS far as a regular circus I went to one when I was on a locked ward (we were let out under supervision) at the Lyons New Jersey UAMC. I was so desperately feeling like a failure due to confinement, and felt such hopelessness, that I contemplated joining the circus as a roustabout, but it seemed futile in the big picture, after all, I felt because I'd just be going from the frying pan into the fire success or lack thereof wise.
I think I noticed a certain clown looking at me out of the corner of his eyes and reading my mind there and letting me know I'd mad e the fright decision, and seeing a choice female acrobat stride by that reminded me that I wanted to start a family someday and stars of circuses are probably kept separate from the roustabouts.
I can remember going to the Ringling Bros. and Barnum and Bailey circus with my mother as a kid and being thrilled at the taste of the cotton candy, the lion tamer doing his thing , the smell of the sawdust, and the ringmaster of that 3 ring circus and his whip. I was in awe.
In the meantime I was going to local carnivals and trying my hand with the pellet gun shooting sitting ducks that passed by in front of the king in the hall of mirrors, and going on the roller coasters and the Ferris wheel.
Later I went to the Barnum and Bailey circus as an adult and the trapeze artist, especially the female ones and , for example the parade of the Arabian horsed, thrilled me too.
I also took my foster son to a carnival and the sorta juvenile delinquent erstwhile deprived kid-he was, I though. I got a thrill out of him seeming impressed.
Enough of this, not that it's syrupy sentimentality, which I find enough in my poetry to have a sense of failure there but maybe kind of exercise in senility.
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 1:42 PM UTC
For my original sin
I'm paying again
For a choice I made long ago
When I was young and did not know
I did not know, loving someone
Could keep you under that gun
Let me set the scene
Of how he was so mean
I endured all his beatings
The only sound, my pleadings
Years spent in his prison
Under constant supervision
Found the key
Set myself free
It was years and years ago
But he still finds where I go
Moved towns and home
Trying to end his syndrome
His mother manipulated my kids
Now he knows where I live
Doors and Windows bolted down
A waiting game till he comes to town
Last time it ended with me in the woods
***** and bruised, because he could
This time it will end in blood and gore
Only question is, which end of the knife I will explore
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 7:46 PM UTC