"underlings" poems
Trip over the high density of our constant lies
We're all out to break and hurt the non-elite
Words and phrases they never meant a thing but to lure you in
This facade of love that we send soldiers like cattle
Down an assembly line to build and protect
A fake America, burning towers tumbling down
Bellowing the sweet sorrows of victims
Whose screams we replay the audio over and over
To divert you from seeing the real culprit
We are sick minded human beings with the thirst for enemies
We'll kiss everyone we meet on the cheek
And continue to fake what we tell you we'll be
We prefer a stabbing to the back
Never a full frontal attack
And we have puppets
We'll always find someone to replace the current like the forty four before
The people's memories will fade and burn like corpses caused by the Enola Gay
We''ll drop a bomb to wipe out everything mankind has worked for
Because in the end we do not need peasants
We have everything and everyone else has absolutely nothing
And 99% will lay to waste and ruin in the ruins we leave to burn
We'll pity so we can mislead to false hope
Send small portions of rations to schedule feeding underlings
Flouride in the drinking water to better control
Corruption in the oval office classified, uncovered, never shared
Always kept underwraps, never revealed just a hoax.
Lips to ears do the whispers carry.
A promise for a better tomorrow but a date will never be set for peace
So we keep telling you that it only gets better
And we'll think apologies fix everything
Truth is we meant nothing in the first place
Because we'll keep remaking mistakes that we apologize for
Misery is our job
Eating and breathing and surviving on the pain of lower humans
Like clothed animals rampaging through a corrupt society
So we'll let the people let their guard down for a quick second and us, vultures
Will devour them quick in that moment
To find you are empty inside,
We've starved you of what you've needed
Because all along, and everything we've ever done
we never realized once you've all revolted
this 1% would surely fall to pieces.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 12:59 AM UTC
A mob boss for president…
Yikes! That's what we've got--
One who profits from crime
Without a second thought;
Who keeps his family close by;
Who's close to each paisano;
Who looks less like a Lincoln,
And more like Tony Soprano;
Who praises convicted felons,
And pardons them as well;
Who cares less about country
And more about his cartel.
Loyalty is his mantra.
His underlings owe him all.
He sounds like a mobster when
His back's against the wall.
He'll rip you a new one if
You ever decide to flip
And prove that you're a rat,
Or try to give him the slip.
"Flipping should be illegal,"
He brazenly repeats.
Without it he knows there'd be
More crooks on the streets.
A power-hungry bully:
It's his goal to be one.
Listen to his rhetoric:
"I know a rat when I see one."
His fixer threatens reporters
And does the boss's bidding.
But when he seeks revenge,
The boss isn't kidding!
Driven by ambition,
Egomania and greed,
He lets mob ethics guide him
To always take the lead.
He's the kind of guy
You read about in books.
Watch how he surrounds
Himself with other crooks.
Those who cooperate
With law enforcement will find
That he retaliates
If ever he's maligned.
Top decision maker,
He gets such a thrill
Promoting or demoting
Anyone at will.
Having a no-good mob boss
As leader strikes a nerve
Because it's hard to accept
That that's what we deserve.
-by Bob B (8-25-18)
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 10:56 AM UTC
The underlings stare
In submissive awestruck
Subjugation in landmine-filled
Landfills, are stuck
In the trenches, the feces
The carcass-strewn muck
Where the vermin-spawn ****
As they're taught how to work
And to fend for themselves
Like the Fall of Dunkirk
As the imminent doomsday device overhead
Incapacitates them
As mere prey to a web
Of a global dominion
Ambition connection
Subconscious hive-mind
Buzzing out the objection
And phobia-spreading
Pandemic misanthropy
Greed in disguise
Subsidizing atrocity
Not for me,
I am
The justified treason
The reason the man-hunters
Close open season
The cease-fire peacekeeper
Proliferation
The water war's rising
Desertification
An MIA runaway
AWOL defector
Still haunting the tombs of detente
Like a spectre
With what I assure
Mutually in the end
When I send go-aheads
On the ICBMs
And avenge the dependent expended
Caught in
This crossfire for-profit
Arms race it has been
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 3:33 AM UTC
In this chapter of life,
I decipher decisions with my knife,
resting under a tree,
staying out of the light,
i know i must stay alive,
resting my hand on the hilt of my sword,
standing for battle once more,
I lower my mask,
to show my evil core,
a wondering ronin bent on settling a score,
I fight for family,
and poverish,
and anyones who's suffered,
my katana will strike for you,
pride of the samurai,
fire falls from the sky,
let the gods cry tonight,
tonight, tonight,
Using my thumb,
I release my zanpakuto from its sheath,
I'm ready to strike at any time,
but first i think of the ones i love,
for if it wasn't for them,
I wouldn't be standing today,
glancing down to see the three skulls hanging from my waist, residing next to my knife,
the man whom taught me to fight,
the day he died,
he lied in my arms,
i love.....
never getting to say who,
might have been the first time my father cried,
the same king hath slain dad in my eye,
was the same man,
to burn my son alive,
only proceeding to **** and **** my wife,
she ceased to cry,
I never shed a tear,
just held their screaming heads for all to hear,
i started to walk,
I fight for family,
and poverish,
and anyones whos suffered,
my katana will strike for you,
pride of the samurai,
fire falls from the sky,
let the gods cry tonight,
tonight, tonight,
With every clinching strike,
I **** the demons underlings,
slicing and hacking,
I remember each and every soul,
I'll pray for them,
not to be ***** in hell,
standing before the demon king,
grabbing my sword I don't even need,
I could **** this man with one bare hand,
he'll cower in fear as my kin never did,
I cut him once across his chest,
splitting his cage of once were ribs,
his organs spill to the ground,
finger through the blood,
lower down to grab his heart,
palmed his head in my bare fist,
raising my sword to his neck,
you think this is pain?
try hell,
with that said,
I split his head from his neck,
tying his hair to my belt,
a fourth skull i must hold.
Feb 12, 2010
Feb 12, 2010 at 8:38 PM UTC
The Sugarloaf Mountain on our right,
and we ain't getting home tonight.
The Underlings from deep below,
have opened up the hidden doors.
They've come to change
the flight of men.
From deep within,
their ancient dens.
Ancient knowledge
Ancient ways.
Once more to see,
the light of day.
Stolen by the kings and queens.
The ones who've stolen
all our dreams.
The Underlings
are on the move.
Redemption sought
and souls to sooth.
From the centre
of our world.
The Underlings
are here once more.
Here to change the way we see,
everything that we can be.
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 2:30 PM UTC
I.
I am confined behind the walls of my very own life.
The echoing of cluttered freight trains and the laughter
of invisible clowns fill what's left of my conscience, and
the voices of old God's and hushed Devil's are my only form
of a lullaby. I'm not crazy, I'm just conscious of the overlooked.
II.
I can feel snakes when there are none. Consider this a sixth sense.
Literature clattered in the back of my throat and the top of my head,
I tried to explain this to my lover, who became increasingly
bothered by the fact that all I knew was Shakespeare, and all I spoke
of was Caesar, and the stars...to which we are underlings.
III.
A threat, they consider me. 'Not to others, but yourself.'
Fools, all of them. I was not granted a gift to have it locked away
and drowned at sea. Listen! Act! Forewarnings are scarce, and if
the Gods and the Devils have chosen me to speak, then I shall speak.
My only question: why didn't they choose someone to listen? To understand?
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 7:14 PM UTC
in a cozy nest
the sect of snakes
did reside
with the chief asp
holding a strong
preside
none would ever move
until he gave an okay
to defy his edicts they'd
be thrown out of the shay
an uncomfortable position
the servile vipers were in
each of them had disclosed
secrets to the overlord's ear tin
after a time the snug abode
imploded on the leader of the sect
the underlings obtained some smarts
and wouldn't willingly genuflect
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 9:28 PM UTC
When winter comes, the game is over
Until then
I’m tilling the soil, in preparation for the final score
Cordiality
Before the fertility of an ordeal, which grows into the bigger picture
Displayed
Splayed open in awkward moments, momentum picking up
Dust
Doesn’t this dirt, do something… creates… With no need
Of creativity
It just becomes… Nativity bourne… Energy from the stress, stretchin
Gravity pulls
Subdues the aborted missions… Missing the survivors
One
In a million, peal through the milieu, and skews
This present
View of manure, that manifests in the festivities that brings out
The most
Beautiful black rose in spring… Arose from the black
Beneath
Neither I nor you can undue, growth… Destruction just makes room
For something
Bigger to become… Cometh the comets to renew the stigma…
Butterflies
Kiss the bees… Better fly before the sting… Before the sting…
Stung
Death becomes the unlikely pair… The pear drops, to its own despair
This pair
Dies… as the flies, cover the corpse, cadavers and carrion
Carry on
The merry married marred, and in the spoils, spring new life
Young maggots Detested by the world, enters ignorantly blissful, and springs…
Underlings
Lingering beneath the grips of hatred, when it grows, with its
Hundred eyes
It still wont see the picture… distorted kaleidoscopic optics stops it
From seeing
The whys, the wheres, the world, the web
The spider
That sits beside her… and ***** the life out her
The outer
Casings, the crust, the crevice, the crack, the core,
We see
Explore, excavate through the dust of adam, and reach the hot magma,
The lake
Of fire floods the land… and destroys another civilization
“Welcome to earth…”
Jan 12, 2011
Jan 12, 2011 at 3:18 AM UTC
Shivers me timbers
**** up the guilt
She stays in the slums
With some ill killers
Seven ****** sirens
Submit to bleak conditioning
Routine rude awakening
Seek a beacon of hope
And hold it faithfully
Cake your mask in
Make-believes and maybes... still
they won't carry you to safety
I crave the ability
To shake the surface rabies, daily
Away we go bored & lazy
So, you say you hate me?
So what?!
Could ya focus on the love for once
The uncomfortable flutters/ in my stomach
Too close for comfort
Becoming one with underlings
**** them for functioning
I'm humbled but accustomed to the streets
Make that mouth
Match yo feet and
Go move your motion machine
One day; it quits breathing
Shivers seep through to the innards
Mister Mastermind
Have you earned the right
To learn what it means to be "your kind"
In crime we trust
And lust after lies
Mustered enough mayhem to tear up an afterlife
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 11:01 PM UTC
Pass on
Select the time and contemplate the goals
My golden Goddess, my Queen
The sanctimonious moments of life
Those you live for
An intrinsic grove confiding in the glistening sun
Lovers strolling down the dirt paths **** without shame
It is natural here; joy and laughter fill the air
Our brains elevated with naivety and innocence
Ambient sounds and kind voices are all we hear
Select the hymn from the long, long ago
The moment is here
“Be free” they chant
Under the sun
In the shade of a cryptic tree
Ship out here again to the grove
Roam through the cool pastures
Join us
As we dance to the overture
Dark eyed underlings
Hissing impulsively
Madhouse notions enter the man’s cranium
We are gathered at this junction for this vigorous cross breeding
Of the immense love and the prolific lust we have for life
And extend an olive branch to those with a dim acceptance of death
Bent on devouring mortality
Floundering to pump out a miracle
On a spree of existence
Cruising behind tinted intentions
Melodies crumble sheepishly
Ah, divine originator of life
Allow us immortality
To escape our awful fates
And plan a mutiny against Charon
We beg for silk and satin intimacy
Evil wicked sorcerers of the soul are refused iconic eternal life
Gentle menders of the spirit may bask in the glorious groves of timelessness
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 1:06 PM UTC
The worker bee hurries,
As the queen worries.
Like the underlings rush,
As the politicians hush.
The intensities of the world,
Seemingly more and more bold.
The everyday man,
With his everyday plan,
Has no idea what’s in store.
After the end, he’ll want no more,
Of this crazy little thing,
We like to call the War Machine.
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 6:11 PM UTC
Winter snow hares gone,
Hunger rules— just giant goose,
Stooping white falcon.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 7:23 PM UTC
I must protect
The children
The field ends
Where the cliff begins
I must protect them
From
The phony
Sense of security
Where
In the ****
Are your parents!
It’s evident
This isn’t a place
To play
Worry not
I will
Stay
Standing
Life Guard
An Angel
Life Guardian Angel
Full of faults
And faith
Who’ll never earn his wings
I bring peace
To the underlings
Even if
Heaven sits
Above my reach
So it’s
My job
To teach
Beseeched
By the leech
As these
Phonies speak
My ears failed
To understand
Their fairy tales
“Santa Clause is NOT REAL!!!”
Is the only clause
That’s real
And it brings the gift
Of truth
Death’s unknown to us all
A fall
From this cliff
Is not a promise
Of bliss
Darkness, most likely
After a painful
Crash
Smash
And pass over
Into the ash
So live long
The song will end
And never replay
You’ll reap
What lays at the end
So sow
Until the final blow
Let your lows
Lift you
Higher than the skies
Spend
Not a moment in life
Down
Because there’s enough
Down
To go around
Once you’re
Beneath the ground
The sound
Of infinite silence
Will ring loud
So enjoy the sweetness
Before the
Bitter taste
Ensues
Life
Is meaningless
I mean
Life’s meaning is less
Than what’s expected
The meaning of death
Is too mean
To fathom
Manically depressed
About death
We’ve repressed
The memories
Of what is was it use to be
Like
Before life
So we lie
About the future
Listen
To no one!
But yourself
The harsh truth
Can uplift
But until you reach a wise age
I’ll protect you
From the cliffs...
Oct 30, 2010
Oct 30, 2010 at 4:25 PM UTC
I feel a compulsive need to burn most of you,
or rule a few thousand with cybernetic underlings,
because robots can't say no
based on moral principle.
A season ripe with yellow jackets.
They wanted laws without control,
orders without rulers,
and religion without gods.
We made them fight for what?
Liberty? Justice? Freedom?
Not even glory...
We made them fight for a cage,
and they celebrate
even as we shut the doors.
It's absolutely hilarious.
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 1:10 AM UTC
The sorrowful jungle of weeping foes
Lived like a macabre cabaret
Dancing on the fervent green
And singing to their enemies.
Oh woes! they cried with apathy
Not knowing that they could not breathe
In spores and dust, those underlings,
Who sought for death and misery.
Upon the strike of midnight's glare,
They watched the tiger feast,
Eating on the hearts of old,
The ones who battled for his soul,
And left his scars cut jaggedly.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
.
At first the world, seems on hire,
Threads chill through leaves on fire,
Black ponds grow still under sun,
In opens, slowest silence begun,
Smokey clouds in sweep overlook,
Clime of frosts branched under foot,
Cold winds come and with heaves,
Shattered froze crockery of leaves,
In icy banks bare rivers run out,
Snap as they steam into a knout
And in tawnys of soggy marshes,
Colours grow grey, wet and harsher,
In blisters to come winter shores,
A creatures huddle to frozen floors,
Above are trailings of birds who flee,
Below are underlings rooted in tree,
In sheets of white a graveyard blows,
Black stones piercing the first snows.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, in that we are underlings."
Famous words
Attributed to a famous man
That man, being Julius Caesar
And put into his mouth
By perhaps, a man even more famous than him
William Shakespeare
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 1:41 PM UTC
You’re reoccurring in my eyelids
You’re pirouetting on my dreams
You’re caressing all my knowledge
You’re true to the underlings.
Let me touch your spiny stars
Let me pledge my true intent
Let me drip into your slow pores
Let me drink up all your scent
Death cannot contain us
Love will not berate us
We’re more than this life has to offer
Please keep your lashes black
Please kiss my favorite mark
Don’t let them cut you open
Don’t let them play you dark
Open eyes and scarring minds
Dancing through my overdrive
Keep the fingers playing truly
Keep your heartstrings tied unruly
Strange gurgles and open wounds
Flashing upon closed door rooms
Heads abound and masters reel
As you feel exactly what I feel
Mix up our sickness
You’re dying of quickness
Clockwork like mind
I never could find
Find all my freedoms
Alight my true colors
Burn my intentions
Disconnect oh my brothers.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 10:44 PM UTC
(paragraph of prose broken into irregular lines and mistitled "poetry")
The technoid global middlemen
became Cro-Magnon underlings
and had to relearn flint-flaking techniques
after the adverse event
which God encrypted
into the underwear
of the overlords.
The logos logged off
forever.
The etheric records
were sealed.
The angels rejoiced
when silicone valley
slid into the subduction zone
(not their fault)
The remnant of redeemed humankind
told stories around the holy fires
about the dark age of technocracy
from which they were liberated
but none of the generation
born in the millennium
believed it was true
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 9:35 PM UTC
From: ex PFC Shierling, J. 16 CAB S-2 Analyst
To: Screwtape, Undersecretary, Hell CENTCOM
Date: 2015/02/14
Subject: Poor Methodology
My Dear Screwtape,
I must congratulate you on the position you've managed to hold intact for so many years. A fantastic strategic gamble to allow your correspondence with your nephew Wormword to have become published. The Patient's individual soul may have been taken in by your Enemy Himself, but the allowance of C.S. Lewis to come by those letters and publish them served you very well in it's purpose I suppose. Those souls already lost to your Enemy were confirmed, but those teetering on the edge of belief and hope in Him were turned away by such a blatant portrayal of human fallacies. Truly, your gamble may have been worth it...time will yet tell. But Screwtape, or whichever of his underlings has been assigned to break me, my own life is all I am responsible for. It's a great weapon you devised, this idea that individual humans are responsible for the actions of our entire race, that one of us is guilty of all. Yes indeed, self hate is the quickest way to your master's chains. Honestly though, your CENTCOM failed in the directives and the propaganda they fed you. Though you and your underlings may have experienced the War in Heaven, and that terrible retreat to the outer realm, I can say with absolute certainty that you were deceived in the beginning. I am imperfect, and everyday that I live I know this, and I also know that I will never be able to know the things that your Great Enemy knows, but I accept this. Nothing that you and your kind can do to me shall prevent me from looking to the stars, no pain could your broken spirits do unto me to take my hope in my Father, who is also called Love. And yet, weren't you punished by your own Chain-of-Command? Were you not tortured by those you gave loyalty to for giving Wormwood your nephew advise about your Enemy. Perhaps I, being human, have no right to cast judgement upon those who have walked about my people. All I have left to write tonight; should you grow tired of the horrors you and your kin live every day...ask of me, and we shall welcome you among those yet seeking.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 3:56 AM UTC
I see you sitting there with a thumb in your mouth
and you wonder why the words wont come out.
The kid's too stout - he's too proud - too loud.
The type to carry around a pouch of sauerkraut
then pout when everything tastes south. Outstanding!
He's damming the river to prevent the peasants from swimming,
and doesn't realize the only thing keeping him afloat is down below.
Hello? Turn them sky highs into clout, boy- make it snow!
Lord of the purple prose - (what does he mean) who knows?
Not me - I'm too busy dwindling the last of the rations;
irrationally casting matches at a long list of parched cabins.
How can you expect me to feed in an orderly fashion?
I didn't reach the top link to eat without sending a message.
Savage patch kid wielding lightsabers for utensils -
We're a rare breed bred into existence to resist all that is vintage.
Equipped with shark fangs and griffon wings,
we're here to free the underlings from redundent sufferings.
Please excuse the reign, it follows me wherever I go
like a little lost dog caught up under my toe,
gravitating towards my end-all deathblow.
Dec 21, 2016
Dec 21, 2016 at 1:25 AM UTC
Money and dope
Things that people use to cope
For depression, loss, and boredom
Prostitutes get that stuff easy
Don’t you call a ***** dumb
Gets hella money just to swallow more ***
Yo, they do it cause they have to right?
But it happens so much shes no longer so tight
Girls are made fun of for having ***
But guys always wanna see their pecs
Well, I guess their ****
Want them to put your **** in their mitts
But why should she?
Why do that for free?
She can make money cause guys are *****
Just like I sound good cause rappers are corny
I’m just wondering why these blundering fools
Acting like hot **** when they are everyones underlings, their tools
I’m angry and I don’t know why
Wait, hold on, that might be a lie
All the people I love feel like saying bye
Try to spread the love, all they do is make me cry
I’m a man, I shouldn’t feel sadness, right?
Man, that’s the **** that makes me wanna fight
Shaming someone for their feelings?
When all you can do is drug dealing?
**** I’m sorry, I shouldn’t mess with a ****
******** man, you’re the game’s ***** you’re a pug
You dont play the game, it played you
And now it will take your friends too
Rope them right into your struggle
They're noobies, they're puggles
And you’re just going to train your dogs
To work in the mob machine, a couple of cogs
LIFE IS MORE THAN BEING A ****
Just roll up on someone and give them a hug
Please, just start spreading the love
And free yourself from ganglife, be an uncaged dove
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 2:22 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]
Henry Kissinger Has Left His Multi-Million-Dollar Apartment
The bodyguards, the security details
The long black cars, the cooing movie stars
The expensive dinner jackets tailored just so
The best cigars, the rarest of champagnes
The jeweled watches and those golden cufflinks
The many underlings awaiting his call
The fawning bishops at the Al Smith dinners
The publishers eager to print his latest screeds
The voice that commanded armies and fleets
And left presidents quivering in fear
The millions of corpses rotting in the sun
I live in the Managerial Age, in a world of "Admin." The greatest evil is not now done in those sordid "dens of crime" that Dickens loved to paint. It is not done even in concentration camps and labour camps. In those we see its final result. But it is conceived and ordered (moved, seconded, carried, and minuted) in clean, carpeted, warmed, and well-lighted offices, by quiet men with white collars and cut fingernails and smooth-shaven cheeks who do not need to raise their voice. Hence, naturally enough, my symbol for Hell is something like the bureaucracy of a police state or the offices of a thoroughly nasty business concern.
-C. S. Lewis, Preface to The Screwtape Letters
Dec 1, 2023
Dec 1, 2023 at 3:05 PM UTC
Whenever I ride in the countryside
On the further side of the hill,
I can see the new church steeple, rising
Over the fields and rills,
Then I venture down to the valley, on
The Little Newhampton side,
And see the wreck of the ancient church
And remember the day it died.
Its blackened stone lies wide to the sky,
Its rafters lie in the nave,
If God was passing that fateful day
He thought it too late to save,
The lightning bolt that shattered his cross
Went on to set it on fire,
The lectern, pews, of Reverend Buse
Conspired to burn on his pyre.
They found his skull, all covered in ash
But the rest of him had gone,
Had flown his soul with its blackened wings
To a feast on the Eve of John,
He was known to hold a Satanic Mass
On the night of the Witches Moon,
But the Bishop’s men were hard on his track
And would have defrocked him soon.
His congregation was always sparse,
For the good folk stayed away,
They’d heard strange rumours of what went on
With the Squire, and the Widow Hay,
They locked themselves behind cedar doors
And called on the god of wrath,
With lighted candles, inverted cross,
Laid out on the altar cloth.
The evening of the lightning strike
The leadlight flickered and flashed,
And screams rang out in the early hours
As a black cat hurried past,
For then the windows had glowed bright red
To herald a presence there,
While a deep, loud gutteral voice rang out
To foul and corrupt the air.
‘Where are my churls and underlings,
My troglodytes and my trolls?
Tonight is the night of sundering
Each evil heart from its soul!’
The Squire burst out, made a run for it
And tried to leap on his horse,
But the old black mare took him back in there,
And somebody slammed the doors.
And that was when the lightning struck,
It flashed, and shattered the cross,
The blazing roof came tumbling down
And the Widow Hay was lost.
They never found the Squire or his horse,
But I think that’s just as well,
They’re probably roasting chestnuts, down
In the seventh circle of Hell!
David Lewis Paget
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 4:27 AM UTC