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Yenson Sep 2018
So what's it they have, what's it all about
Work for the bossman.
Use your brawn Earn your pittance,
Then eat, Pub, drink, **** and pay the bills
Go footie, shout and scream, at one with your tribe
then  go sit in front of the telly, play at family
Week is done
Till the morrow when you do it all again

How about a soap opera, you direct and act
Gotta a Royal down the road ripe for the taking
Lets go invade, see how the other halves lives
Come, lets all join and become Kingmakers
Under our ***** thumbs he goes, we pull the strings
Entertainment for the masses, beats our mundane cages

For once, we are the bosses and can pull the strings
Knowledge is Power and its all here in Mao's Red Book
Lies, fabrication, distortions and misinformation
Disinformation, half-truths, slander it ain't no matter
Everything he says will be taken down and used against him
This is control at our finger tips, this is power to play with
He's going through the Red mill, drilled and ground into dust

Look we've got him as the puppet, we destroy all his trappings
So gather round and join the fun, this is us like God
Lights, action, now you do this and this and watch us play him
what do you mean puppet ain't moving or re-acting
OK let's do this, you go there and you do this and do this now
Still no action, OK let's try this, if you go there and say ah
You drive here, you stand there, you watch here, you stand
Nothing still, OK you come here, you put this here
Still nothing, This puppet is NUMB, this puppetting is no fun

They had drawn up the master plan, written their ****** script
The puppet looked and laughed, what a bunch of prime morons
No substance, no value system, no morality or basic sense
Infantile, one track minded sociopaths full of flaws and manure
Go back to your drinking and ******* and your mundanity
The united pack of crooks, ****, racists and the vacuous coerced

Go look after the Leading Lady stuck with rehearsals and scripts
The imagined romantic interest paying debts for UK residency
Waiting for the Prince to come running and tomfoolery begins
The bit part actors are still playing, too stupid to realize
The control is on them, their time energy and effort all a sham
Our Directors are directing making it up as they go along
The supporting actress are still hopping and hoping
The new characters are still buying false scripts and playing
Playing with themselves as Puppet stands and watches it all

They wheel out their demented scribes and brain dead peoters
To write dirges, glooms, ******* and negativities galore
Casting their dark fantasies and the rancid spittles of their dregs
Muds from the festered pools of their putrid minds dresses up
Ready to visit nightmares of their making from their darknesses
Areas thankfully unknown to a mind and soul untainted, unsoiled
As is their bitter lives, valueless breeding and hate and prejudices One ignorance and neurotic existence, the depravities of depraves..

Poor, poor imbeciles, they really don't have much in their lives
Illusions and delusions by the bucket loads, anything would do
To remove them from their sad, miserable sorry realities
Hey its Clockwork orange, we are all stars in our *****
Diversions to their mundane, unrewarding and depressing realities
Their frustrations and powerlessness, their insignificance
At last a vent for their frustrated lives, miseries loves company
A release valve for pains of centuries being underdogs and serfs
A safe playground for psychos, control and pain in abundance
Let's call it Revolution and add Republic to make it more palatable

Down at the palace of Attrition, a blameless man sits and muses
Crazed dogs of war at the gates, salivating insanely, bloodthirsty
Watching Controllers tieing chains to masses and jerking them
Into frenzied hysteria, nothing beats permitted wickedness shared
Dropping poisons and acids into hungry jaws, patting heads
Shouting rallying calls, we got the Bastille of the blinds going on
Scientists please take notes, this is Herd mentality and Groupthink
This is how to manipulate the masses and incite Hate unawares
Majority wins here, this is Democracy, this is people power

Do, you are ******, don't, you are ******, Hate abides all.
Puppet sees injustices but better to play dumb and numb
They can't abide a black do well, hate spews from fear
Hate festered by the unique decency of a successful blackman
Who had all they wished for but could never have or be
Riddled with lust and envy they merely went on to steal his
But that wasn't enough, the bullies and cowards had to ruin.
Under the pretext of them and us, blue versus Red they lied
Rabid racists takes another black man down, green bottle falls

Man proposes, God disposes, UK, KKK now play god
Thy will will be done O'Lord, I am but your servant
It's rather flattering being The Real Deal in this production
Confirmation of differences betwixt Gifted and the Depraves
A Travesty full of sound, false images and fury by the loonies
A Red Racist Production by Idiots and psychos for fools and sociopaths.

Lights, camera, action
Yawn.......................
"Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."
“Neither a man nor a crowd nor a nation can be trusted to act humanely or to think sanely under the influence of a great fear.” .
Endia Chardea Aug 2014
Revenge is regretful
and unrewarding
What are you going to do,
When you become the wicked?
The sick.
The twisted.
When you can't manipulate your little girls?
When I get sick of this unrewarding lifestyle,
Living for your word?
What are you going to do,
When you become the wicked?

What are you going to do,
When you lose me?
What girl would still take you?
After all,
All you do is compare her to me.

The wicked,
That's you.
The submissive,
That's me.

I'm all you've looked for,
I'm the kind of *** you need.
To have a fling at work is accepting a lot of adrenalin running through your veins. Mostly unrewarding, seldomly paid off and heartbreaking.
Hope to never experience it!
Charity and love
go hand in hand
From my perspective,
it's two breeds of the same species
To love encompasses the desire to give
yet charity has its limits
But what limits can be placed on a charity of love?
Endless giving even as much as my soul
and the purity that's left of
which you never turned away
greed is your sin
consuming the broken pieces of me
as if it were a buffet
But wait Hey!
if you consume all of me
what is left of me
the parts you control
in fear of being alone?
How is it possible to fear
what we've already experienced?
Is the experience that horrific and unrewarding
horrendous to the mind and eye
daily disrespect is ok and warranted
Warranting questions of common sense and more
dare we say even sanity
all in the name of love and charity
because what need do I have of me
without giving to the one I love
because he needs
more than me
Ms Reale Aug 2011
Do you ever sit and dwell on thoughts
of your old, unrewarding crushes?
They're always the world at first, but over time
their personalities begin to decay.
And sadly, I still believe
I caught a glimpse of something real
through the seams
of a stitched-up heart,
even though many truths were spoken in jest.
I will continue nail-chewing,
nervously,
'cause I can still taste their salt on me;
Never regretting-- yet, denying-- the deafening growl
of my chainsaw libido overpowering theirs,
as it cut right through,
leaving our bodies in a lifeless spoon.
This somehow helped me to overcome that kind of rejection
when I was still tangible to the elitists I wished would keep
out of my reach.
But now, I've paid my dime
to come to terms with the cool of the discomfort
crashing down around me, like
a black raspberry avalanche.
Emma Pickwick Oct 2014
Your sleepy eyes and broken smile,
Little messages on my voicemail box.

Your smashed guitar and nights binge drinking,
Smelled your fragrance in my sheets.

Unrewarding look, burned your toast,
So apathetic, let's just go down the street.

You're admiring bagels and counting the flavors,
Ripped jeans and leather boots.

I'm glad I'm not dead yet,
Infinite playlist and a song called 'Robbers'.

You spilled your coffee and smiled,
Horrible delivery of kind words.
Experimenting with this one. I know it's not for everyone and I'm sorry if its not your favorite. ***
S L Poetry May 2020
Tell me what it is
About the trees
Dusty grey and gloomy in October
That resonates so dearly with a heart
Melancholy and somber
This rain is soothing
Like the soft white I line my walls with
A golden haze playing through my veins
And flames to match the essence
But not the calefaction

You can watch me drift into a paralysis effortlessly
A debilitation cold and lingering
Like lifeless trees awaiting the worst
Some sun
Does not change the course of nature
And I wonder what flavor of future
Nature holds for me
I feel like the trees
In the middle of a foggy autumn afternoon
Comfortable

And content
Living in the shadows of a world
Too engulfed in regurgitated highs
To contemplate or appreciate struggle
A world utterly ignorant to individuals soft spoken and inherently
Harmonious in the ways of authenticity
And naturalism and realism
We have the endurance to undergo lifelong tempests
But lack the energy to speed through
Trivial phases of Insatiable beauty 
Our growth is goddess enough

Tell me what it is about the moon
Majestic and nostalgically haunting
A calming through night's terrors
And unforgiving traumas
Silver whisps of validation shine into a heart
With love looking a little too much like silhouettes
An ebony void seeping into the cracks of joy
And pain becoming an obvious pattern
And the moon is there always
Watching the molding in a resentful awe

What happened to the life of the young
Happiness looking like summer nights
And chrismas lights and vintage pop bottles
Fading into an uninviting outline
Through that type of half reality
Half fantasy version of time
Months feeling like hours
But unrewarding years all the same
Childhoods disappearing into insomnia
And I'm not very hungry
And I don't want anything for my birthday
Kind of aloof answers
We get it
We're all just tired

Tell me what it is
About the stillness of autumn
That induces a numbness in our hearts
Watching our desires blow away with the wind
One by one
They sing their remorse through aeolian howls
Uncanny and ghost like
Or the early nightfalls
That strangely feel more intimate
Than our last touch did
A type of familiarity rather profound
And lacking in any form of resentment
Maybe it's the significance in vulnerability
The stripping away of irrelevant priorities
To see the real
To see the roots

Tell me what is is
About the trees
Dusty grey and gloomy in October
That soothes a tired soul
A vagabond in search for more
And a heart a little too in love with loss
Ma Cherie Sep 2016
Hey there girl
you know it's been awhile
since we road down back roads
just rackin' up the miles

you are so very beautiful
I love that turquoise blue
black and pink accentuate
your frame in subtle hues

the rubber we were layin'
really brings me there
remembering the miles
wind blowin' through my hair

I really miss the rides
that brought you to the end
if an unrewarding Journey
this wish to you I send

One that we could travel
behind that steering wheel
bringing  lovely thoughts to me
in which you made me feel

that engine why it purred
and sounded badass loud
drivin'  'round with you
it always made us proud

Perhaps one might have guessed
you're really just my truck
I'm sorry that your engine died
For running out of luck

I can still remember
our favorite fishing trips
Way out in the woods
You always kept your grip

down some rugged roads
  kept us safe from harm
I hear you got a new life
You didn't bite the farm!

So keep those people happy
and sing a tune for me
rembering the time
we raised ....
  a family

I'll try not to be sad
and let this be farewell
they say you're just a thing
in this I must not dwell

If energy lives on
those memories  never died
like you're beating engine
on which our lives relied.

Cherie Nolan © 2016
This is about my truck Lucy the picture is on my profile page... side by side next to my Father's truck and he has passed *sigh*  She is an F150 Flareside  the most popular vehicle 9 years in a row that's right vehicle not just truck! Now a coveted prize she's been rebuilt and I'm glad !!!
This poem is definitely for Stephan & James....and everyone too!
BTW Apr 2021
Quiet Morning
29 april 2021

Reflections on the sea of responsibility,
Realize the deficiencies of mood and logic.
Decisions selfish and unrewarding, impromptu,
Bring the prize of self defeat, pain and endless regret.
Burdens of debt in the baskets of life.
Unbalanced on the heads of the lost.
Struggling to find the way.
Conscience stirs then looks away, but all pay the price.
Lonely game hide and go seek in the stilled rising sunlight.
How to make call, “:You’re Out”?
neth jones Aug 2024
.
i launch from within                                                           ­                   
      the critical business of sleep and dreamwork          
                                                   and into the pre-furnished day
mucus skin                                            
like the first gobbed up evolver   to get turfed up on the beaches
i let go the veils   of those true solving agents
the motions     those treasurable scenes
of bloom and swoon tidal theatre
                     they disperse
and i tough out a self applied                      
                                   ­        measured  and subservient routine
          a hasty and unrewarding approach to   'productive'  business  
                                                              it­ brings me distaste
but   cements me in shared society
passer bys throw up their greetings
                                and i heave 'hellos' in return
'Pon this grand Stage we call "Life,"
t'is up to you, and only you,
to be a Character,
or to otherwise sink
into a stagnant state,
being just another Extra.

Which will you choose?
I know I've chosen:
seize what days I have.

You can be banal,
it's easy and unrewarding;
set up for yourself
a mundane Life;
letting each day
pass evermore begrudgingly
as redundant iterations and projections
of your own uninteresting Mind,
or,
you can defy that lull of Life,
you can deviate from the herd
you can be an exquisite piece of Art-
created by the very act of existing,
moderately uncompromisingly,
howsoever that happens to be
that you, alone, desire.

(Anyone seeking so much as to try
to stop, limit or discourage you
is unhealthy for your potential)

Will you find yourself
on the long list
of names so long forgotten,
or will you be
remembered, forevermore,
by thy peers?

Tell me, Self,
I'm curious:
which shall be thy choice:
a Path of a Character,
or that of a mere Extra?

Better still,
because talk is so cheap,
so superfluous:
show me.

Show me.

Show me who you truly are.
I want to be unable to disbelieve.

I refuse to be an Extra
in the story of my own Life.
I refuse to be an Extra
if I have any say in the matter.

Would you?
Do you?
Are you?

Well, show me:
we shall see.
TheConcretePoet Nov 2019
U2
i still haven't
  found what
i am
   looking for is
much more
   complex,
much more
   profound than
just a few things.

   unrewarding
is a life
  asea that
lives and breathes
  within one's
dreams.

   exhausted;

what i look for
  may not
even exist
   except for
what lies in
  my subconscious
mind.

dubiously
   just living
and seemingly
   wasting time.
Picture this Jun 2015
Among the weeds are seeds of hate
growing at an alarming rate
and strangle good intention's throat
until it's dead by aggressive choke

Hate takes flight and whirls around
never finding firmer ground
jumping like flames from tree to tree
unyielding in it's misery

Once unleashed it cannot hide
it tries to hold it's head with pride
but perfect lives it bitterly sours
powerfully destroying as it flowers

The devastation in it's wake
of happy dreams it does forsake
as hatred manifests itself
at damnation's stagnant lake

For those who hate in every way
a heavy bitter price they pay
as those who once believed
now know they've been deceived

No earthly good can come of it
as no one will offer it to sit
turning backs on those who hate
this unrewarding destructive trait
Meh Sep 2019
Every dreary day's the same.
Every important detail is halted
in a stalemate over a somewhen
that feels much like eternity.

I remember it all by heart,
my laughable fortress of apathy:
the texture of the chair,
the length of the motion
between my hand and my addiction
in the form of keyboard and mouse,
the brightness of fake mechanical dreams,
and the mess of real ones.

Then the line between evening and night blurs
or sometimes night and day,
and comes the tedious unrewarding process
of laying in bed, and listening
to all the little pains
of human body and mind:
little scratches, aches,
and too many thoughts.

Thoughts about
all the little things
that make me insufferably like myself:
my ego, wishing only to cage the world.
and make it dance like a fool,
conversing with despair,
an extravagant fellow
who sees no world
outside of mechanical fools
staged on a collapsing surface.

There are also social thoughts
about the game theory, hormones, and stress
of playing in human society.
People connected by fragile threads.
Loneliness is a paradox,
as it tends to grow with density.
It’s always hard to find
the ideal strategy.

I also remember well
the feeling of waking up.
I would have never known
how passionately one could hate
a series of fragmented sound bites saying:
"The time is 7:30 am. The time is-", I know.
Of course, you can’t know that I know,
or rather you just can’t know,
but it feels like you should by now, y’know??


After a period of time
equal parts instant and unending
I find myself strapped
to yet another, less comfortable chair.
There are a few dozen others
sitting in equally uncomfortable chairs
in equally inexpressive fashion.

At an opposite angle,
stands a bigger one
relaying piles of data
to be computed and organized
and tediously rehearsed,
by us, smaller calculators in training.
The most exciting
and unfun part
of our structural data training
are the tests
to check each one’s margin of error
and kindly give particularly special care
to the ones on the lower end
of achievement.

Sometimes one of the bigger ones
asks me if I’m fine
what a stupidly kind but pointless question.
Because, of course,
there’s only one correct answer
So I make a clueless face
and give the same one every time
I want to be a good calculator, after all.

But it’s far too obvious
to even bother saying
that nothing is ever fine
maybe that’s why no one does say it
and when I remember
the depth of my unfineness
my center of gravity sinks
deep into the earth
and all that’s left is the feeling
of my soul digesting itself,
and in those lucid moments
when the game of reality ceases
and nothing can be good or bad
and life becomes
too sad a story to handle
I can’t help but smile.
nivek Sep 2015
Waiting for some high ranking leaders of nations to grow up
can be a most unrewarding waste of time.
Delton Peele Mar 2022
Some day I believe
There there will come
A time
In which I might think ,
That I ........
Retrospectively
Wished I would have
Seen this coming..
Then again that would have surely taken some of the fun out of it.
Cause knowing me....
If I had known..............
I dont think I would have done it
I  know I would have done it anyway......
And there's one more  reason why ,
Its so sorta unrewarding
To read books backwards
kromwellfarkus Apr 2023
Young man
You ok?

Everything's on top of you
I'm sorry to say
It gets worse as you get older
Middle class front liner

Just save money
Don't spend it on ****
Moderate your vices
Or they will own you

Be your own boss
Buy a house early
Invest wisely
Educate your world

Don't marry early
Travel, see the world
Fall in love
With a million girls

Be a gentleman
Be honest, don't steal
Do what you say
Say what you feel

Life is hard
Unrewarding and mean
No one gives a **** about you
Not even me

You're on your own
It's all in your hands
You ok?
Young man?
Norbert Tasev Aug 15
How should you live your life better?! More than eight hours of your time is spent on the teeth-gnashing torment of general, but unrewarding work, of which – not much – is the overhead, and your pension is not sure to last you for the rest of your life. Three hours are spent just explaining to your kind of mouthy, adored wife with prehistoric methods why you can't go on vacation to the Maldives or the Seychelles even three or four times, because due to restrictions, even the free beaches of Lake Balaton have been largely closed to the simple, poorer classes of people. You tear your hair out like a petty, notorious neurotic, who – perhaps – is no longer sickened by a system, but by the many petty, bribeable puppet-men and puppet-deals, due to which this whole mess of filth is managed as a whole.

It might be a shame to replay the memories of petty physiological situational slaps and falls; otherwise you wouldn't get much out of it. Your beloved love suddenly announces: She's had enough of you, and that you've turned into a vile, worthless *******, unfortunately through no fault of your own, since there were layoffs at the multinational company where you've already spent about fifteen or twenty years.

How are you supposed to live your life better?! You don't even know, because in the meantime, your aorta seemed to burst due to an almost fatal heart attack, and your coronary arteries could use a lot of heavy and massive repair. You might still dare to act, but not only your life-walls, but also your Me-Time are being closed in a vile and wicked way, mainly by celebrities who constantly only understand the permanent sensation-*******, and of course they are paid handsomely.

Your youngest daughter mostly doesn't even want to know you anymore, because if you don't pull the ******* yoke of misery, and while you're in line for some baked goods in a supermarket, your daughter demands Barbie and a Frozen doll, and even a little mini-tyrant character will torture you until you can't take it anymore and at the end of your exhausted day you buy her the toy doll. What could your pitifully wasted life be for, when all you wanted was a little independent peace and a deck chair near the shade of your quince tree; and when your little daughter becomes a bride, you, like an old, toddling old man, ask yourself: ,,What did all those incomprehensible, melancholy decades of yours go for?!
Yenson Oct 2020
Soft like the finest silk
from way afar in Cathay
smooth like the purest milk
iridescent in ebony lustre radiance
a beguiling all encompassing cover
that blesses organs finely tuned and talent

So in sublime grace
tis nowt but surprising to find
it's thick skinned and tough as hide
impervious to vicissitudes of trench mouths
and the jaundiced orators and scribes maladroits
for when mental apoplexy strikes tis known that reasoning flees

A common concerns of muzhiks
trollied on fermented brains in gutless sacks
barking and yapping absurdities of soured incantations
bewitched in the coven of tainted echoes of the mindless throngs
who beg acceptance in puddles to bathe and be glaze as neon slaves
for tis better to honk as pigs an be a flying monkey than just a nobody

And yet in fatuous fare the ****** and prods of herds and sheep baa'd
diluting rancid mead to drink in selves stuporific delight
as a fish angled in nets leans on fellow fish in same net
theirs is to do and do and do again and again
show me the drunk that knows he's drunk
no, you only see sobriety fall on his face
Tis the way of this class of people
for to the unrefined towns mob
mindless excesses is a way
of unrewarding life
for where do the
talentless go
and what
do they
do

but....
Yenson Oct 2020
May all their proclamations reverts
in self affirmations
for what exists in their minds will eventually
manifest in in their souls
for in exhalling you also inhale in same
unpurified atmosphere
and darkened minds does not wash clean
but reinvigorates in its own pollution
bringing home its chicken to roost
be unto yourselves as your minds be
onto others
for in the courtyard of retributions
providence and karma sit as presiding judges
and hearts and minds are testifying scribes
so as you wish for others is as you wish for yourselves
and in the troubles of your minds are the troubles
in your hearts bodies and souls
manifest in words that haunts you and illustrates
your unrewarding worlds
Nothing goes for nothing
in vivid glares and incantations
accept in self condemnation your backflow

— The End —