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.
They’ve been friends
For the longest time
And are enjoying a fun
Day in nature,
Climbing around
On the rocks,
Laughing, joking,
Sharing stories,
The comfortable ease
Of familiarity.
She loses her balance
And falls, her landing
Reverberating disturbingly.
He comes to her aid.
Unable to touch her,
Or show her how much
He cares, he utters
Awkward words of dubious
Reassurance, “At least
You’re alive!”
This was to be the day.
He’s never wanted
For anything in his
Life, has always had
Access to all parts
Of society and
Every opportunity,
Invariably invited
Into all the clubs,
His name appearing
On each guest list
For a bite of the pie,
Or more accurately,
The whole thing.
He feels great about
His current status and
Screams bloody murder
When anyone is given
The chance to enter
His rarefied echelon
Unearned, unappreciated.
Behind a stern moustache he was
Afraid of rainbows. They destroyed
The natural order of imposed
Dominance and rigid structure.
A sneer dismisses all vestiges of
Hope and fancy as a child laying
On his back, admiring clouds on a
Balmy day and jabbing a fork in his
Forearm to displace enjoyment.
Stop the fun, halt the relish,
Live where dreams go to die,
An unreturned greeting.
Sitting in the park,
He watches her climb
On a rock, the way she
Looks over to make sure
He’s watching, a flitting
Bird enjoying a sunny
Afternoon, he nods his
Approval, mind straying
To the many times he heard
The gavel come down
Informing him that he
Was not fit to care for her,
The same thing that had
Happened with her mother,
The specter of foster care
Looming over the scene,
Ready to take her into
It’s impersonal arms and
Away from everything
She knows, now but a memory
That never quite goes away.
Suburban cul-de-sac
Festooned with oversized toys,
An obscene adult sandbox
Flaunted by unrepentant consumers.
Overstuffed couch from the
Regional chain supports
Contented chip-shoveling girth.
Screaming offspring omnipresent,
Not a moment’s rest for the
Weary amidst family pandemonium.
Overfed, welcomes overstayed,
Another meat chunk on the grill
Complementing the seven in the belly.
Bawdy, obvious observations issue from
Large, reckless mouths, unpolished,
Unconcerned. A mortgage the
Admission to complete disregard for
Human life and civilization.
Entangled in a battle of words,
Each straining to gain the
Upper hand, everything and
Nothing at stake, mercilessly
Thrusting, gouging, flailing,
Writhing to gain advantage,
Position, supremacy.
A clash with no winners,
One perishes, the other
Hobbles away to dispatch
Another day. Unthinking,
Uncaring, a feral organism
Protecting its young, twisted
Mouth, livid eye, interlude.
He arrived at the station,
Baggage in hand,
Destination awaiting.
You can’t treat people with
Kindness, they’ll take
Advantage of you.
You can’t trust others,
They’ll betray you as
Soon as they can.
You can’t talk to certain
People, they don’t understand
The truth.
You can’t change the world
Unless you believe
It can be done.
When they feel
Empty inside
They urgently try to
Fill the hole,
Satisfy the cravings,
Find meaning anywhere,
Still the noise,
Buttress inner atrophy.
An unforgiving parasite
Sucking the hope out of
All who approach.
Hidden deep inside,
Plainly manifest.
At some point
His eyes glaze over
And any emotions
He once had inside
Become a vague,
Unspecified numbness.
The ensuing atrophy of
Empathy, joy, love,
Inexorably congeals
Into a lifeless,
Paralyzed mass of
Stark insensitivity.
He plods through the
Remainder of his life,
Smearing his disease
On others, leaving
Behind a legacy of
Unhealed wounds.
He’s an affable chap,
Eager to share an amusing
Joke or anecdote.
He has many acquaintances
Ripe for invitation
To his lavish home
For lively parties,
And to admire the
Fruits of his labor.
He’s lauded as a successful
And generous member of
The community, always
Eager to help those
He sympathizes with.
Occasionally,
Usually by mistake,
Someone will scratch
Below the surface.
A group of young people
Converge on a summer camp,
Demonstrating to the world
That human beings
Can come together,
Heal long-standing hurts,
Forgive past trespasses,
Move forward positively,
Smile, trust.
All of them so similar,
Feeling the same things,
Dreaming the same dreams,
Enjoying each other’s company,
Bringing home a message of
Reconciliation and peace
To battle-hardened skeptics
Who have forgotten what
It is to love.
Stripped of
Humanity,
Reduced to a
Faceless
Number,
More easily
Exploited,
Insignificant,
Exhausted,
Used piece
Of detritus
Carelessly
Discarded when
No longer
Needed,
Replaced with
A new object.
Confronted with his own
Frailties, he crumbles in on
Himself, a reverberating
Collapse of ego.
Steeling himself, jaw
Clenched, eyes hardened,
He lunges forward in a
Gnashing display of
Ferocity, transparent,
Petrified by unrelenting,
Joyless memories.
In letters to his friends,
As an aside on the golf course,
He voices his disdain for
The leeches, the ones who
Can’t make it because they
Don’t have the initiative
He does, the ones who
Sponge off of others and
Live a life of taking,
The ones he never has to
See as the gates to his
Compound close behind him,
They aren’t as special as him,
He keeps telling himself,
And anyone who will listen.
Retribution is not justice,
Anger is not reason,
Fear is not motivation,
Hatred is not justification.
Vulnerability is not weakness,
Love is not frivolity,
Kindness is not an afterthought,
Empathy is not unnecessary.
If you want to
Be part of our
Thing then you
Will absolutely
Submit to any
Rule we impose,
Gut anything we
Say you should,
Cut everything
We tell you to.
It’s for your
Own good,
We know best,
Our fiscal philosophy
Has shown
Time after time
How good
It is at destroying
Entire nations.
He woke up, like every other
Morning, and watched the
Early news while drinking
Instant coffee and eating the usual
Microwave breakfast sandwich,
Muttering to himself that
People should be satisfied with
What they’ve got and quit
Complaining about their
Situations. At least they’ve
Got jobs, they’re better off
Than where they came from.
Nobody ever handed me anything.
Life is hard, there’s no free rides.
The sun ascends above the
Horizon, its rays never
Disinfecting the ingrained
Scarcity of imagination.
Paint me a picture of how
Things were before all joy
Drained out of your psyche,
Replaced by continuous calcification.
Tell me about the times
You acted out of courage
Rather than cowering behind
Dogma and resignation.
Buoy my spirit with your jaunty
Tales of adventure and discovery.
Lets take a break from ad nauseum
Enumerations of broken dreams and
Shattered expectations.
Take my hand in yours and tell me
The world isn’t punishing.
I remember when he invited
Me over to his house,
More like a mansion as
We pulled up to it in
His chauffeur-driven car.
He was one of the boys
I would watch lording over
Everyone else at school,
Tousled but neat at the
Same time, commanding.
He got out without thanking
The driver, walked past
The butler and motioned me
To his room in some far-off
Wing upstairs.
Walking around his domain,
The sheer excess,
A maid appeared and asked
If he needed anything,
“The usual,” he snorted.
At the agreed upon time,
The group meets,
A ritual repeated
Over centuries,
Solemn reverie,
August observance.
Barely acknowledging
Each other, a smattering of
Small talk bows to
The more important
Business at hand.
Intense concentration,
Frustration builds as
Unmitigated determination to
Conquer becomes and
Exercise in manifest reality.
Words acquire barbs,
Vying for position,
A flaccid display of
Misplaced bravado and
Unregulated juvenility.
It’s reported that
The whole race thing
Is really not much of
A concern, bordering on
An afterthought for many,
Easily dismissed,
Of no real consequence,
A very different view
From having epithets
Shouted at you or being
A permanent suspect,
Second-class something,
Berated, harassed,
Handcuffed, maced,
Clubbed, shot for
Being exactly as
You were born.
They chopped down the
Beautiful tree that
Graced their yard.
Not because it was sick,
Or encroaching on something,
But because they could.
Startled and enraged
By the light of progress,
They scurry out from
Their hiding places to
Shriek for their right
To hate, impose their
Distorted dreams of
Inequality and fear.
Artifacts from a
Shameful past,
Idealizing the
Trespasses of their
Forebears, standing up
For malevolence,
A ghastly stain,
Total absence of
Compassion, love.
It’s painfully obvious
That there are many
Unsaid things that he
Needs to express but
That he will never
Articulate because it’s
More important to win
Than to love.
They gather in all
Corners of the world,
From small villages
To big cities,
From mountaintops to
Beaches to forests,
From living rooms to
Public spaces,
Young and old,
Light and dark,
Big and small,
Dancing,
Joyfully expressing
Their common
Humanity,
Celebrating
Harmony,
Peace,
Love.
On a balmy summer afternoon
She sits tending her booth,
Her lovely paintings on display.
A few people walk by and
Half-smile on their way
To somewhere else.
Others comment or
Ask questions, making
Polite small talk.
Occasionally, someone
Seems genuinely interested
In one of her works.
At the end of the day,
She realizes that this
Was not her audience.
Like a bunch of awkward
High school students,
They stand around fidgeting,
Desperately trying to one-up
Each other with mundane,
Sleep-inducing stories
About banal experiences
Followed by raucous
Self-conscious laughter.
One guy raises his voice,
Gesticulating wildly,
Hoping the nearby ladies
Will notice, another rambles on
About how big his business is,
Another drinks his fifth cocktail
To numb the meaninglessness.
Sing a song of hope and courage
For those who have not yet
Found their voices.
Dance a dance of elation and passion
In the name of those who
Deny themselves movement.
Dream a dream for those who
Have none yet and dare not
Speculate on such matters.
Illuminate the world with a
Glow of innocence, enthusiastic
Imagination personified.
A former carny pontificates
At great length about freedom
When what he really promotes is
Abject selfishness driven by
Perpetually flashing images of
What it was like to scrap
For a living years ago,
People stepping on him,
Taking advantage of him,
Looking down on him,
A harsh life of insecurity and
Debasement coloring his every
Waking moment and assuring him
That it’s okay to punish
Everyone else so that he
Doesn’t end up where he began.
Thirty minutes away but
Unfathomably remote.
A vividly painful memory,
Times spent anxiously vying for
Approval, a pathetic dance for a
Morsel of affirmation.
Insatiable craving for attention
Heightened by ruthless
Absence of empathy.
In the distance all things
Recede as if they had
Never existed.