Human suffering
Appears to have
Absolutely no impact
On him.
He doesn’t seem
To care at all whether
A child goes hungry
Or a mother falls ill.
No concept of
Fairness, equality,
Or trace of most
Basic compassion.
Nobody ever helped him,
Completely self-made,
At least that’s what
He tells others.
I tried to explain
Over and over but
He wouldn’t listen.
No matter how little
He really knew about
The situation,
He still heard
Only his own voice,
He always knows better.
He has to win
All the time,
Or everyone loses.
Tantrum after
Horrible tantrum
Erupting.
An ugly spectacle
Writhing on
The floor.
Their march will continue,
Until every single
Person believes exactly
What they believe and
Acts exactly as they
Want everyone to act,
And looks exactly like
They all look,
And believes in the
Same fabricated nonsense.
Then they will find
Something else to revile,
Some other group to exclude,
Another contrived target to
Denigrate and spew their
Wretched,
Unquenchable,
Unlimited,
Unreasonable
Hate upon.
I’m poet Guy Farmer and I love writing contemporary free verse poems about human beings in all their splendor and folly.
I love connecting with professionals who enjoy contemporary free verse poetry.
Emotional, raw, and deeply personal, ‘Unconventional Being’ is a powerful poetry collection about the splendor and folly of being human.
A change blows in, barely perceived
Except to those who welcome these
Things. A murmur, a hint, a pinch of
Expectation, hope, elation.
Severity puts on its boots, stomps around
Sniffing the air askance.
Extravagant freshness, dewy possibility.
Expeditiously impress unacceptability on it,
Deny its existence, close the door on
Smiling visitor, well-intentioned.
Mindset of punishment
And retaliation, always
A message to be sent,
Incessant posturing,
Don’t show the chink
In the armor though
It can’t be missed in
All its withering
Insecurity, a single
Approach to everything.
He grew up in a cozy neighborhood
Within a bigger town.
His mind developed just enough to
Leave room to spare.
He reached great heights professionally,
Smaller inward gains.
At every pivotal moment a
Narrow voice promising certainty.
Glad-handing each
Other, a winking
Back-slapping herd
Plans its next
Assault on the
Defenseless.
Not a single
Compassionate
Dissenting voice
Beseeching to
Stop the
Carnage.
Going back to the place
Where he grew up and
Finding that it is not
The same as he remembers,
Dreams of recapturing his
Youth dashed in an instant of
Realization that things can
Never be as they were,
No matter how much he
Wishes them to be.
They assert
The world will
Always be the same,
Will never change,
That people will
Invariably be the way
They have always been.
Pessimistic myopia
Asserted by dreamless
Sorts who have been
Hurt at some point and
Cannot trust that
There is still abundant
Kindness in the world.
Insist you can’t
Make things better,
And you’ll perpetuate
The familiar suffering,
Believe you can
Change the world,
And you will.
There’s really not much to it,
Just keep them off-balance by
Scaring them to death and feeding
Them a steady diet of misinformation,
Keep their attention on something
Else while you steal everything
They’ve got behind their backs
As they blame the wrong entities
For their continuing misfortune.
Another day passes
Uneventfully as the
One before it.
Walking through the halls,
Smiling at only
The right people.
Forming the cliques
Required to establish
Power and position.
Practicing the stratagems
Necessary to secure
The circle of influence.
Predetermined steps
Up the ladder,
Preserving the club.
One step after another,
They walk together,
At least they used to.
Things are rather
Different now, but
Neither knows what to say.
Words without import,
One looks at the sky and
Says it might rain.
Being a curious person I couldn’t
Resist looking into the neglected building.
A lonely desk, papers strewn around,
Period pictures on the wall, dust
Coating everything, gradually muffling
All distinction and memory. My companion
Talked about the good old days when
Things were better, people were kinder,
Life seemed simpler. Everyone knew
His place, not this one.
The opportunity to
Show the world how
Compassion and community
Can elevate a nation.
Play nicely with monsters,
Pretend they’re not there
To destroy the place,
Profile in trepidation.
What might have been
Becomes what isn’t,
A wasted chance to
Do the right thing.
The sun sets on
Desperation unattended,
Leaving behind a sorry
Rotting carcass.
A bright light shines
On his embalmed face
As he promises the
Screaming throng of
Sycophants that he’ll
Destroy everything that
Provides safety and
Dignity to the destitute.
A roaring cheer explodes;
Finally, the prospect of
Putting the power back
Into the hands of those
Who least deserve it.
Teary eyes hoping for a
Better day for the chosen,
A far worse plight
For everyone else,
As it should be.
What if they don’t like what I offer?
Worse yet, what if they don’t like me?
What will I do then?
What will I do next?
If I just think about it a little longer
I’m sure I’ll find the solution or
Deflate like an errant souffle.
What will I do then?
I know. I’ll keep obsessing
Until I’m unable to move.
The placid life of a statue.
That’s what I’ll do.
He becomes upset,
I try to make it better
But realize there’s
Nothing I can do,
And never was.
We hear about more
Human beings getting
Slaughtered, utter some
Disingenuous, meager platitudes,
Wring our hands a bit,
And then do nothing
To stop the carnage.
They disingenuously claim
That it’s not about
The implement, but rather
The person, but it’s
All too painfully clear
That’s it’s really about
Making money at any cost.
She attended a workshop required by
Her employer and found that it
Directly contradicted everything
She experienced at work each day.
How to reconcile incompatible philosophies,
Battling worldviews, half-hearted
Gestures to improve nothing.
Sit at your desk, do your work,
An ego will be by presently to
Overwhelm your spirit.
They toil to change
The school curriculum
To reflect a self-righteous
Thirteenth-century view
Of the world.
A wonderful realm where
Education succumbs to
Superstition, where
Strict hierarchy imposes
Its arbitrary whims.
A king on top,
Everyone else in tatters,
Barely subsisting,
Summarily subjugated by
Master manipulators.
The one thing they
All knew about him
Was that he had an
Answer for everything,
Greatly overestimating
His actual knowledge,
Which consistently led
Him to not get along
With almost everyone,
Himself included.
He feels so small that
Everything he does is to
Become bigger
Than anyone else, so no one
Can get to him the way
They did.
Suppressing yet another
Burst of emotion, he transforms
Sadness into blinding rage against
The tormentors who
Look at him askance or
Make him feel
Less than huge.
The accoutrements of weakness
Surround him,
He relishes the fleeting rush of
Confidence.
All he’s ever done
Is impose his will
On others,
Trample on their peace
And well-being,
Infringe upon their
Comfort,
Do whatever he wants,
When he wants to.
He doesn’t care
Very much about the
Obscene piles of
Cash the bankers
Made off with,
Leaving behind the
Worst financial cataclysm
Since The Great Depression.
He prefers to focus
His self-righteous ire
On the hapless bystanders
Pitilessly ruined by
The conscious malfeasance
Of financial criminals,
Now forced to queue up
At the food bank.
You didn’t have to leave me like that,
Holding my disbelief, a goldfish in a
Plastic bag, swimming aimlessly without
Anywhere to go, hope of escape,
Knowledge of anything else.
I’d grown accustomed to our dance,
The one where you lift me and
Let me down and throw me up in the air
Only to watch me fall, a knot of bruised
Feelings, unresolved questions.
It’s really not
That complicated,
Though so many people
Have such a hard time
Figuring it out;
Just live your life
Without stepping on others,
Be kind, giving,
Enjoy your time on
This earth by being
Someone who understands
We’re all in this together.
He’s worked long hours
For many, many years,
Serving demanding patrons who
Often barely notice he’s there.
Every two weeks he checks
His bank account to make sure
His money has been deposited,
The future at stake.
Today his daughter found out
That she has a scholarship
To the local university’s
Medical program.
A couple of tables down,
A woman leans over to
Her husband and whispers
About the foreigner.
I can’t convince you to be happy, to
Let go of the pain, to treat people well,
Like yourself, heal the hurts,
Overcome the fear.
I can’t implore you to dismiss many
Years of habit. Wavering foundation
Settling for crumbs, ease elusive,
A rippleless lake startled.
I can’t sway your mind to follow a
Sunny path lined with wildflowers,
Brimming with hope, the last cold
Gusts of winter warmed.