I’m poet Guy Farmer and I love writing dark poems about human folly, from the petty to the galling and reprehensible.
I love connecting with professionals who enjoy dark poetry about human folly.
Emotional, raw, and deeply personal, ‘Unconventional Being’ is a powerful poetry collection about human darkness and folly.
Tears well up in his eyes,
Not for reasons pure.
Visible to all but the unreceptive,
A lifetime of indulgence.
Some shout at the top of their lungs,
Nothing to see here.
The boys’ club furiously
Protecting its own.
Nothing will stop them,
There’s power at stake.
Arrogance in the face of truth,
Bristling when discovered.
No justice will be done today,
Nor ever from this cabal.
An old photograph reminds
Him of when he cared way too
Much about what other people
Thought about him.
He smiles, remembering
Those directionless days when
He didn’t realize
That there was much more to
Aspire to than
The clothes he wore,
Car he drove,
Area he lived in,
Friends he had, or whatever
Superficial image he
Was trying to project.
Many years have passed and
He has put very little work
Into growing,
Still trying to catch the eye of
Anyone looking his way,
Dazzle them with his superficiality.
One small action,
A smile,
Hug,
Word of encouragement,
Helping hand,
Can change everything,
Gentle ripples of
Kindness,
Love,
Healing the world,
Changing
The course of history,
Humanity.
Such a nice boy,
Subjected to constant
Suppression and domination
Over so many years.
His hopefulness fractures,
He loses his ability to
Feel for himself or others
And becomes what he
Swore he never would.
When there is
A profit motive,
We endure
Permanent war,
More people rot
In prison longer,
Vital services are
Slashed to cut costs,
Regulations are ignored,
Altruism is kicked
In the face,
General well-being
Is sacrificed to
Line a few
Avaricious pockets,
Corruption and cronyism
Are the norm,
Everything becomes
More expensive.
Thinking punitively,
That’s all she knows,
All actions directed
At protecting the
Tenuous sense of
Safety she struggles
Mightily to maintain,
Everything is
A possible attacker
Who must be
Defended against.
She manages to
Consistently err on
The side of overreaction,
Striking preemptively
Instead of offering
The benefit of the doubt
Or some semblance
Of kindness, trust.
Quaint cottage on
A towering cliff,
Small garden,
A single tree,
Having coffee together
Looking out the window.
She leaves and is
Never seen again.
Nobody talks about it
But they’re pretty
Sure what happened.
Each day much the same
As the last, continuous
Small victories culminating
In something yet to be
Revealed. Unable to see
Anything beyond the maze,
Unconcerned, peaceful, calm,
Confidence of purpose,
The knowledge that
Everything will be okay
On this path.
Unconsciously following
What he thinks is his brain
But is really just the
Manifestation of hurts
Wedged in there by people
Who meant well but didn’t
Have a clue what it was
To help a human being
Become whole rather than
An animate patchwork.
You, lovely people,
Surfing the web
Late at night,
Or during the day,
Or anytime at all,
For any reason,
On any device,
Rest assured that
We’re taking good
Care of you.
We have a record
Of everything you’re
Doing on there,
And you can trust us
To not use it in
Any weird way.
Please remember we’re
Only doing this for
Your own good,
Because the world is
So scary and we
Have to keep you safe
From our conveniently
Fabricated threats.
If there is a path to kindness,
They will find a way to
Destroy it. If something
Can be done to make others’
Lives easier, It will be ignored.
When someone needs help, they’ll
Be sure to ignore the call,
Blame the victim, nothing being
More important than protecting
Their own narrow interests.
Because of the extraordinary
Pressure she had always felt
To fit in, be one of the group,
Do what was expected of her,
She questioned herself at
Every turn, wondering if her
Sense of direction was broken
While, the whole time,
Her inner compass awaited for
The day she’d decide to
Follow her own course.
They see themselves
As the chosen ones,
Which unfortunately
Always seems to mean
That someone else is
Not quite as special.
Thus begins a campaign
To assert their supremacy,
To put others down
In order to buoy their
Own status or sense of
Self-importance.
A never-ending cycle of
Feeling superior and
Fighting rabidly to
Maintain their position
Regardless of how it
Tears up the world.
Pretending
That everything
Is okay,
An empty
Charade,
Much like
The rest of
Their lives.
How easy it is
To dismiss an
Entire segment of
The population,
Of human beings,
By simply saying
That they’re lazy,
Or that they’re
Lucky to get the
Pittance they receive
To barely subsist
Instead of meaningful
Opportunities to
Succeed on their own,
Or that they should
Just go out and get
A job when there
Aren’t any.
Tough talk is cheap,
Real solutions require
Nuance and compassion.
The conflict
Came to a boil
Quickly and was
Dealt with in a
Clandestine,
Inequitable,
One-sided manner
By people
Engorged with
Their own power
But without
The ability to
Do anything
But perpetuate
Strife and
Dysfunction.
A sticky web of
Interlaced interests
Colluding to stack
The deck against
Unsuspecting people
Struggling to make it
Day to day, and who
Have no time to dissect
The vagaries and minutiae
Required to gain entry
Into the exclusive club
With the wood-paneled walls
And oversize leather chairs,
Where cigar-smoke-wreathed
Movers and shakers wink
Knowingly at one another
While making absurd deals.
Look away.
Nothing to see here.
Please don’t bother us
While we do things
To make your life
Miserable.
Sitting in a stifling classroom,
Looking out the window,
The occasional visitor
Walking resignedly
Toward the office,
A bird flying by,
Glad it’s not in this
Algebra class,
Reveling in its freedom.
An intense stare confirms that
The clock is barely moving
And that the subject at
Hand is all but unbearable,
Incomprehensible to some minds,
Though nobody seems to care.
Neil is an autoworker
And is clapping joyfully
On election night as
He watches his favorite
Candidate (the one who
Champions Right to Work laws)
Pull ahead in the polls,
The likely winner of a
Hard-fought campaign.
When he takes office,
Auto assembly line workers,
And everyone else,
Will not be able to organize
Against the whims of
Their employers
(The very thing that helped
Build the middle class)
Earn a respectable wage,
Buy a house, a car,
Support a family,
Put a kid through college,
Live with some dignity
Instead of as prey for
An insatiable corporation.
Facing each other
In a quiet room,
She lets her guard down,
Talking about things
That haven’t been
Allowed to surface before.
He interrupts her,
It being more important
To show how wise he is
Than to simply listen.
Delivering yet another
Monologue
On the same tired subject
He’s recounted a thousand
Times before, it’s
Depressingly
Discernible that he’s
Never listened to
Someone else’s
Point of view or
Made room for any other
Narrative but his.
A traveling salesman
Rolls his cart
Into town and begins
Barking jovially about
His magic cure-all
Tonic called
The Free Market,
The guaranteed fix
For whatever ails you.
A crowd gathers,
Mesmerized by his
Persuasive message,
Buying bottle after
Bottle of the stuff,
Hurrying home to
Try the magic elixir.
Hours later, they
Lie in their beds,
Clutching their bellies.
A couple of towns over,
Another group of people
Gathers on main street.
I take a chance to
Speak my mind and I’m
Instantly uneasy,
Such is the nature of
Consciousness, a moment of
Certainty followed by
Inevitable questioning.
What the answers might be,
I don’t know, though
Others assert they do;
I don’t believe them,
It’s always the ones who
Say they know everything
Who really have no clue.
Love conditional,
Kindness doled out
In meager portions,
Dependent on
Self-interest,
How it makes
Him look, not how
It makes the other
Person feel.
Cold,
Calculating,
A cornucopia
Brimming
With nothing.
A hapless, powerless
Human being is beaten
To a bloody pulp
And allowed to die
By a group of arrogant,
Reckless hooligans
Employed by the state.
A tormented community
Takes to the streets,
Venting repressed anger,
A shared history of
Maltreatment and prosecution.
A smarmy politician
Bemoans the destruction.
They talk on the
Phone about how
Different things are
Now, how much is
Left to be done.
The remnants of the
Past flicker weakly
Before being extinguished
By the present, the
Passage of time,
The change that happens
No matter how hard
Anyone tries to hang on.
They obscure the truth
Behind petty, superficial
Distractions that mean
Nothing but avert attention
From what they’re really doing,
Destroying anything that
Benefits anyone else
But themselves,
Bullies on a rampage.
Polluting their minds with a
Sordid deluge of misinformation
They willingly immerse themselves in,
All semblance of civility, decency,
Savagely slaughtered, replaced by
Unnerving, unnecessary, unfounded
Cries for justice if not outright vengeance
For packaged, fabricated trespasses,
A resounding victory for the propagandists.
One person
Dares to
Speak up.
Another takes
Notice and
Joins in.
A movement
Coalesces and
Gains momentum.
A union of
Voices spreading
A message of hope.
They move
Forward with
Purpose and determination.
Their actions
Change
The world.