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.
Instead of
Fear
He chose
Courage,
Instead of
Hatred
He chose
Love,
Instead of
Animosity
He chose
Kindness,
Hopeful
Choices
For him and
The world.
Light doesn’t get in here,
Only an unsettling dullness
Feeding unconsciousness.
Judgments arrived at
Through thoughtlessness,
Ferocious fear.
Enlightenment derided,
Hurt the only
Acceptable currency.
Another reflexive reaction
To imaginary threats,
Absence of love.
Everything is going along
Much as it always has,
Until something changes.
Whether due to an accumulation
Of slights over time,
A single major event,
Or increase of self-esteem,
The relationship shifts,
Moving in a new, less intimate
Direction, trust depleted,
Superficiality followed by
Disengagement, one party
Expanding, the other static,
Continuing separately.
He’s unable to be impartial,
Too many things churning inside,
Slabs of unresolved mayhem,
Monsters screaming at him
About how worthless he is,
Misshapen ego craving
Absolute power and control.
Having internalized the messages,
He fulfills the prophecy by
Relentlessly punishing others,
Oozing misdirected self-satisfaction,
Unable to be anything
But what he was told he is,
Perpetrator of injustice.
It’s been hard
These last few years,
Not much to celebrate.
She walks down the
Icy street, careful
Not to slip.
The frigid wind
Penetrates her coat,
Increasing her discomfort.
When will things change?
She wonders,
The same struggle day after day.
Approaching a homeless person,
She offers a five-dollar bill
And a smile.
They all say
It doesn’t matter,
Nonchalance covering for
Ambiguity, confusion, fear.
In moments
Away from the crowd,
They know there is
Something else.
For now, they avoid it,
Hoping it will resolve itself,
Much easier than
Having to think about it.
Each day passes,
And with it the opportunity
To acknowledge
What’s missing.
Not a moment’s peace for her,
A self-imposed trajectory
Unimpeded by introspection or
Even the faintest understanding
That maybe things
Could be different.
She’s become so used to
This particular routine,
Refusing to consider any other,
Shallow depth of field,
Never seeing the horizon.
Daunting but necessary,
Sometimes things need
To be shaken up,
Moved from where they
Have been all this time,
Gathering dust,
Helping no one do anything
But remain in place,
Atrophying,
Wondering what happened,
Not doing anything
About it.
Heightened expectations,
Consistent disillusion
Exacerbated by impatience.
Waiting becomes a familiar,
Unwanted companion.
So many other things to
Be done, dreams to be
Fulfilled, moments of joy,
Return to calmness.
An easy way
To destroy democracy:
Pretend that all
Points of view are
Equivalent,
No matter how false,
Misguided, or hurtful.
Make sure all the
Voices that want to
Build a kinder world
For everyone are
Lumped in with the ones
Seduced by fear,
Cruelty, and lust for power.
Make believe
All ideas have equal merit,
Until facts don’t matter
And we lose our sense of
The greater good.
Enamored with positions of
Supposed authority,
Constantly fixated on
Self-preservation,
Uneasy, imbalanced, suspicious,
Routinely unenlightened,
Limiting growth,
Punishing change,
Loathing insight,
Enabling dysfunction,
Shunning anyone who
Doesn’t fall in line,
Ordinariness covering for itself.
Parts of me,
My history,
Strewn about in
Different places,
Unrecognized by
Anyone else,
Fragments of a
Bygone time,
Vivid in my mind only.
A heavy sigh,
How it all passes.
He goes off on yet
Another long-winded and
Excruciatingly boring commentary
On some topic he thinks
Makes him appear erudite but
Is really just another
Desperate attempt to be
More important than others,
Trying to overcome the
Voices of disapproval that
Won’t leave him alone
No matter what his title.
In this family
We keep secrets,
Protect oppressors,
Condone behaviors
That cause
Lasting damage,
Pretend everything
Is perfect,
Scornfully reject
Ideas that might
Make things better,
Never growing,
Just maintaining.
She insists that she
Loves doing this
Soulless thing that
Makes her a lot of money,
Yet one can’t help but
Wonder whether,
As a child,
She looked at the clouds
And thought to herself
That she wanted to be
What she is now.
At the end of his life,
He realizes that
His crowning achievement
Was to live in
All-consuming fear of
Everything and everyone,
Choice gifts bestowed
Upon him by a fist,
Dismissive look.
Sometimes, if he
Closes his eyes tightly,
He can just barely
Picture a place
He never dared visit,
Where he’s smiling.
Sitting in the airport,
It dawns on him
That he needs to stop
Trying to be someone
He’s not,
Move beyond the persona
He’s carefully devised
To avoid facing his fears and
Pursuing his dreams.
He hears the boarding call
As he walks away.
He writes something kind
About me and I, instead of
Simply thanking him or
Savoring the moment,
Immediately wonder why he
Didn’t say something more effusive,
Doubting whether I’m good enough,
The compliment rendered null,
Insecurity extinguishing joy.
Through a torrent of
Unreasonable, petty
Decisions, he relegates
Himself, his enemies,
The world, to a
Perpetual state of war.
The void he feels inside
Fuels his need to
Conquer others, appear
Bigger than he is,
Compensate for his
Stifling ordinariness.
Confronted with a conundrum,
Summarily dismissed as
Not important, relegated to a
Dark basement where notions are
Left to rot until rediscovered by
Unsuspecting eyes, flummoxed by
Distressing absence of insight,
A bug scampering away when
A light is turned on,
Festering complications left
Unanswered by a staggering
Scarcity of sapience, valor.
Publicly utter a
Discriminatory
Epithet.
Play the bewildered
Victim when people of
Conscience notice.
Benefit from kindred spirits
Starting a funding campaign
To support your bigotry.
Keep moving forward
With great vigor
And disregard.
Never learn
Anything from your
Reprehensible actions.
Call yourself
A defender of
Righteousness.
You may stare at the screen
All you wish.
Everything you need will be
Provided.
All questions will be answered,
You will not feel a thing.
A numbing of the frontal lobe
Is normal.
Enjoy complete apathy
Punctuated with rising rage
Misdirected against
The innocent.
We count on your help.
You win!
Stand there with
Your trophy while your
Shambles of a life
Lays at your feet and
You pretend that the
Reward is far greater
Than what you squandered,
Not that you’ll ever
Admit it, that would
Require some measure of
Courage, in short supply
In the land of swagger.
As a child, she had to
Fight for what was hers,
Struggle against the
Feeling that she was being
Judged or wasn’t good
Enough in some way, that
She wasn’t really loved
Or accepted, didn’t matter.
Not so many years later,
She became externally
Successful, with all the
Trimmings and trappings,
But inwardly vowed to
Never again let anyone
Tell her what to do, she’d
Strike first and show them
Who was boss, she’d be in
Control all the time, a
Sullen emperor staring down
From her tarnished throne,
Giving the signal to
Sacrifice yet another
Miserable underling to quench
Her thirst for dominance.
A blossom
Doesn’t care about
Anything other than
Being a flower.
Beautiful.
Someone comes
Along and deems it
Inadequate,
Frightening,
Unimportant,
Strangles it.
The plant lies
Dormant,
Anticipating
Another day.
There’s always that one
Individual who makes
Everyone else’s lives
Miserable, who has such a
Limited understanding of
Where he ends and others begin
That he tramples on all toes
In an unpleasant strut of
Unconscious self-centeredness,
Trapped in his own
Inflamed harshness.
It’s in the quiet spaces
Between words that he remembers
What he was and how it all
Led to this moment, whether
He wanted it to or not,
Without any semblance of order
Save for every single experience,
Every instance of gushing pain,
Pulsating regret, momentary joy,
And the evolving realization
That he was never whom they
Said he was, or whom he had
Convinced himself to be.
All the same,
Searching for comfort
Over expansiveness.
All in boxes,
Complimenting each other
On their identical caskets.
All in a stupor,
Sleepwalking from
One reaction to another.
They clap gleefully
As the child dances —
A forced smile pasted
On his face,
Flailing wildly to
Keep their attention,
The only time they
Notice him.
Although he never
Noticed it himself,
It was clear
To everyone else
That he was strikingly
Adept at making the
Important people in
His life feel horrible.
No error too small
To point out,
No advantage too
Preposterous to duel for.
A hug withheld,
A judgment rendered,
The subliminal erosion of
An already fragile self.