dark poems

He’s Not Like That

Spewing from his mouth,
A most foul string
Of words, assembled and
Projected with vitriol
At the object of his hatred.

Exposed as a frothing bigot,
He goes into standard
Damage control mode,
Insisting he’s not like that,
That he respects all people.

Things progress as expected,
He minimizes his misconduct
And begins whining about how
He and his family have become
Targets of negativity.

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Anomaly

He sits rotting
In a cement cell,
It was predestined,
Really could not
Have turned out
Any other way
Given the brutality
He faced as a child,
Abject impoverishment,
Empty stomach,
Mind developing
Without the benefit of
Dignified schooling,
Moldy leaking ceilings,
Insurmountable odds
For anyone but the pompous
Blowhards who pontificate
About how anyone can
Pull himself
Out of misery without
Any help at all,
With an entire system
Rooting for his failure.
Sure, the occasional
Anomaly escapes the dungeon,
The one in one-hundred thousand,
Held up as an example
Of real opportunity,
But only an exception to the
Rigged rule,
The countless others ignored.

Unremarkable

Normal, average,
Middling, standard,
Tolerable, humdrum,
Garden variety mediocrity.

Common tyrants
Trampling promise.
Dime a dozen
Sullen orthodoxy

Hit me with your
Unexceptional best,
Banal executioners,
Unremarkable.

Losing It All

He wasn’t always this way,
There was a time when he
Woke up with dreams of
Peace and love,
Vast horizons beckoning,
The joy of discovery,
Hope for a better world.
When the first windfall
Came his way, he pushed
Everything else aside,
The optimism, delight,
Crushed by the weight of
The fear of losing it all.

The Course of Events

It dawns on him that
Perhaps there is nothing
He can do, that he
Really has tried everything
Possible, that the only
Variable here is whether
The cause of his agony
Will gain some kind of insight
That changes the course
Of events, a healing of
Pain rather than
Tightening of the rack.

Diversions

The two pass on the
Street in front of a
Bank, neither sees the
Other, one on her way
To an assembly line
Job, the other entering
The building and walking
Into a well-appointed
Office with a plaque on
The door indicating his
Special title, his
Exceptional position in
Society because of all
The money he lords over and
Others don’t. He chuckles
With a colleague about
Haves and have nots,
Winners and losers,
Survival of the fittest,
Ruling class diversions.

Competitor

I remember the moment he
Referred to me as a competitor,
Collaboration pettily smashed
Into a million jagged shards.
Inflated ego,
Simmering insecurity,
Infirm sense of self.
Rapacious hunger for
Power, prestige, position,
Civility – camaraderie – a casualty.
Close the gates, boil the oil,
Needless battle begun.

Sublimation

Her blank, lifeless eyes
Betray a dearth of feeling,
Loss of innocence,
Humanity torn from heart.

She follows whatever they say
With a confidence that only
Comes from the total
Sublimation of self.

Inside her, a muffled voice
Reminds that there
Always is another path,
Courageous, resplendent.

Removed

An acquaintance from
Many years ago,
Some professional context,
Pleasantries exchanged
In the civil respectful tone
Of imposed interaction,
Superficial conversation of
No particular consequence,
A lingering unease.
Making the eventual mistake of
Connecting on social media,
To be cordial,
Dismayed, saddened, at seeing
How much she fears and hates
People who aren’t like her,
A distant contact becomes
Even more removed.