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.
One small man jumped on another
Man’s back and started pointing out
The imperfections he noticed.
One small man scrutinized another
Man’s face and told him he was
OK looking at best.
One small man picked at another
Man’s scabs, reopening the lacerations
That had been healing.
One small man laughed at another
Man’s mistakes and went home
To an empty interior.
There are times when the voices
Get so loud I whimper to
Relieve some of the pressure.
An agonizing procession of
Discomforts leaves its unwelcome
Footprints on my narrative.
Betrayed by those she trusted,
An impenetrable veneer of
Grime and acrimony hampering
Vision, stilted unconscious steps,
Living one phantasmagoric day at
A time. When things were better,
Fear wasn’t a supposedly
Necessary companion,
Her world was a cleaner one where
Unicorns came to visit and play.
Smear everything with tainted
Filth, defend the continuation of
The proud ruination tradition.
Stare into helpless eyes and
Create new, indelible memories.
A besmirched photo album.
Not having experienced
Unconditional love,
Memories of harshly
Intoned words,
Belittling snide looks,
Constant jabs at
Budding self-esteem
Pervade unsettled sleep.
He becomes a leader and
Is faced with the
Universal choice:
Compassion or retribution.
He looks deep inside,
Finds nothing to draw upon
But a staggering
Compulsion to vanquish.
Faces bereft of
Human emotion.
Deformed reasoning
Discharging onto everything.
From lowest to highest,
Dreadful pain procession.
Unresolved inner turmoil
Cast carelessly outward.
Orgiastic dominant behavior
Covering for inadequacy.
Apocalyptic internal cacophony,
Seize what you can now.
Sitting alone in
Some coffee shop,
Wondering what
Might have been
Had he listened to
Anyone but himself.
I wonder what you’re
Doing right now,
Not because I want to
But because it was
Inculcated in me from
Childhood, an obsequious
Subservience coupled
With absolute deference
To feeble monarchs
Handing down flawed edicts,
Intolerant of any dissent
Or individual thought
Lest their mangled innards
Be revealed in all
Their stinking wretchedness.
I wonder if he
Realizes how
Tightly wound,
Unhappy,
Harsh he looks,
Whether he has
Any understanding
Of how he comes
Across to others,
But I doubt
He does,
Self-awareness not
Being very important
To his sort.
His forced laugh,
A rough interjection,
His brow a knot of
Unresolved pain,
His words permeated
With simmering fear,
Uncomfortable
Countenance.
I’m sure people who
Are like him will
Readily buy
His act,
But I don’t.
Up to this moment,
He had refused to
Believe that
His friend was really
Uttering the words
Coming out of his mouth,
That someone could
Believe what this
Person whom he had known
For so long holds dear,
That a human being could
Be so consumed with fear
And confusion that he
Would utter such filth,
The realization of
Severe miscalculation,
No longer knowing
Someone formerly close.
A person,
Given all the power,
Takes a moment,
Decides to change the world.
Helps the few,
Ignores the many.
An avalanche.
Mountains crumble,
Structures tumble,
A general grumble.
It doesn’t have to
Be this way.
Companies can make
A lot of money and
Pay their employees well.
CEOs can pay themselves
Slightly less,
Build one less mansion,
So that their workers
Can buy a car,
Afford a mortgage,
Send their kids
To college,
Take a vacation,
Set some money aside,
Enjoy life.
Inequality doesn’t
Have to be the norm
Unless those at the top
Want it to be.
Wait until every opportunity is
Exhausted, expecting
Something new to happen to
Someone like you who understands
Everything and nothing at all.
Breathe the scant breath of
The persecuted, unleft alone by
Your tormentors whom you see at
Every turn and in every store
Window leering back at you,
Proud of your bewilderment.
He closed his eyes and
Let go of the last vestige of
Humanity. A worship of the
Material, compassion
Succumbing to brute
Force of self-interest,
Fear, lust for power.
He opened his eyes and
Saw the opportunities to
Comfort, care, build a
Future of hope and love.
Growing expansively,
Openly, altruistically,
Reversing history.
Hours spent pondering,
Musing, mulling, meandering,
Committing entrails to paper,
Canvas, string, embouchure.
Kaplunk of feet on boards,
Voice filling the voids,
Light beyond which one
Can’t see; the frown, shrug,
Raised eyebrow of disapproval,
Smile of fulfillment and
Ecstasy, connecting to the
Essence of all that matters.
Lachryma lingering on cheek.
Transcendent gleam,
A bird flying because it can.
At some point
There is a closing
Of the mind,
A numbing of the heart,
An inability to feel
The suffering of others
In any meaningful way,
A grim resignation.
A hardened persona
Forged from years of
Suffering, or perhaps
Only one traumatic moment,
Unable to reach out from
It’s own pain and
Connect with others
Who are hurting.
A man self-made through the
Uncompensated toil of countless
Beings, mistreated, unconsidered,
Property in a ledger.
Affluence and individuality wrapped
In a banner of civility and tradition.
Hushed voices in ramshackle surroundings
Document a different story.
Proud, self-sufficient, bearer of
The standard, the vulnerable are
Expended, fortifying social standing,
Fueling savage prosperity.
Sadness surrounds
The gatekeeper,
So many precious hours
Spent making things
More convoluted,
Blocked, obstructed,
Rather than helping,
Pathological need to
Control driving base lust
For petty power.
Things are more difficult
Around here,
Thanks to me,
That’s how I matter.
Every one of them
Huddling inside bland houses,
Emerging occasionally
To throw some meat
On the fire,
Or let the dog out,
Or start the car.
They’ll experience occasional,
Outsized moments of joy
When offspring arrive
With their offspring
To interrupt the
Stifling tedium.
Nothing to talk about
With the spouse.
Lurk in the garage
Drinking beer,
Working on the latest
Time-killing project
The neighbors will
Endure listening to.
Encompassing mediocrity,
Enforced sameness.
On the second floor of
A beige house,
A young woman writes
A poem.
One simple gesture,
Openly proffered without
Reciprocal expectation or
Ambiguous motive.
One kind action,
Quietly realized without
Longing for attention or
Thirst for recognition.
I can’t remember the exact moment
I gave up my self. Perhaps it was the
Day that importance and worth became
Quaint terms of impossibility.
The culmination of many years of
Foregoing aspiration. A sapling gnarled by
Withering storms, exposed, awaiting
The next calamity to be endured.
A gradual lowering of expectations,
Unperceived and silent evisceration,
Rescue me from the burden of feeling,
Ask me to be someone else.
He lets me into
His existence,
But it’s not a place
I really want to visit,
Rather unsettling,
Full of jagged edges,
Hard, untended
Spots of insecurity
Covered with makeshift
Patches of ego.
I politely look around
Hoping to find something
Comforting, healthy.
I leave shortly
Thereafter with
No plans to return.
Speaking to a group of
Factory workers, he
Conveniently fails to
Mention that he is
A proud union buster,
The kind of person who
Shafts the little guy
To favor corporations
Dedicated to paying their
Employees as little as
They possibly can
Get away with
Before anyone notices that
All the money is going
In one direction.
He came upon grace,
An unfamiliar state
Callously dismissed as
Unbecoming.
He came upon hope and
Methodically
Wrung its neck with
Unfounded beliefs and
Fearful suppositions.
He came upon love and
Violently banished it
Away from himself,
And others.
A creeping foreboding insinuating
Itself into an otherwise cloudless day.
A serene outdoor picnic where the only
Visitor is a breeze and a mountain lion.
Take a moment to resolve whether
You’ll sit still or run, then decide to
Flee and find that your legs are like
Noodles in a delicious Asian soup
You enjoyed one time in a small
Place in a distant destination.
An intimate lunch in a hidden corner of a
Bustling city. Gazing into each other’s eyes
Moments before the check came and
Overburdened your credit card causing
Waves of shame, a loss of face.
He looks out the window
At the street where his
Children played happily,
Where every house was
Tended to, where neighbors
Said hi to each other and
Talked about work down at
The plant, their dreams
For their kids, their
Upcoming family vacation,
Their steps up the ladder.
All gone now, replaced by
Derelict shells the
City will eventually
Tear down, lifeless
Shells where once regular
People enjoyed life
And planned their futures.
A young man offered his being,
His vulnerable, exposed essence,
Pure, unadulterated by adult
Adulterators adulating duty.
His gift was considered for
Less than a millisecond and
Replaced by stringent rules of
Decorum and convoluted honor,
An imposition of boot on face.
Succumb to the tide as it draws
You beneath the waves.
An ugly smile announces
The bully, who indifferently
Smears his unformed,
Unexamined nastiness
On every surface,
Forcing the worthwhile to their
Knees, savaging the
Nuanced and vulnerable,
A loud surge of cacophonous
Stupidity wrapped in a
Business suit, playing
The victim when reason
Exposes his hypocrisy.
Please don’t tell me
How much you
Care about others or
Give to charity
Or what a big heart
You have when
You brazenly and
Unapologetically support
Policies that destroy
The poor and vulnerable
Who need help
Rather than scorn.
A clearing in the forest for dance,
Connecting with nature,
Celebrating peace, hope,
Joy, discovery,
Learning, community.
In another corner of the forest
A group worships fear and hate,
Flames licking their way
Up sordid symbols of
Venomous loathing.
He expects a bow, a curtsy,
A genuflection indicating a
Profound respect for his station.
Any affront to his sovereignty is
Answered with exaggerated rancor,
Swift punishment meted.
A scepter compensates for a
Weak mind and cavernous,
Petty appetite for power.