poems about brokenness

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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Know Everything

You can’t possibly hear me when
You’re talking, every rebuttal a
Blow to cordiality, each defensive
Twitch eroding trust, weakening
Compassion. I realize you know
Everything and those who bear this
Gift have a crucial responsibility to
Ceaselessly share their thoughts,
Bury all others in the avalanche.

About Him

He scurries around
His disordered lair,
Planning his next
Move, the one that
Will undoubtedly put
Him in the position of
Most supremacy over
The largest number of
People. Finally,
Complete dominion.
On the outside, people
Say what they always
Have said about him.

Vigil

He still remembers it
Vividly, painfully.
Overt slights,
Disregard for his opinion,
Domineering imposition,
Unnecessary fighting
In the midst of a
Horrible situation.
Feeble, broken people
Hobbling around anxiously,
Making each others’
Lives miserable as
They stand vigil.

Lofty Words

Lofty words about
Compassion and love
Give way to more
Mundane needs for
Company and belonging,
Deeper desires for
Control and power.
They gather together
And talk about
Being good people,
Doing good deeds,
But there’s always
That bit about
Being the chosen ones
Or excluding others
For not being
Like them.
Inequality promoted
In congregation.

Unsolicited

Every time the phone rang I’d
Get an anxious, uncomfortable,
Crawling feeling because I knew
What was on the other end.

Syrupy sweet platitudes and
Depressingly shallow exchanges
About nothing in particular and of
Excruciatingly little interest to me.

Gritting my teeth, rubbing my temples
To pacify the misery, hoping this
Would be the last time I’d have to
Deal with this unsolicited dross.

Folly

Another explosion
Rocks the building.
He huddles against
His mother’s side,
Feeling her rapid breaths
As she clutches him
Tightly to her.

Perpetual war has
Altered their expressions,
Etching permanent lines
Of fear and resignation
On formerly bright faces,
Innocence besmirched by
Diseased politicians.

She remembers her mother’s
Words, warning of unsound
Men unable to settle
Their differences
Resorting to fighting,
The eternal folly of
Insecure minds.

The Very Thing They’ve Done

Rabidly punishing
Other people for
The very thing
They’ve done and
Now rail against,
Hoping nobody
Will discover
Their trespasses.

Why Bother

How can you learn anything
Without the insight that
Something needs to be learned.
No reason to try anything new
When you have the courage of
Your convictions and assumptions
Propping you up. Why bother
Expanding your mind when things
Are already arranged in neat,
Undisturbed rows covered in the
Dust of disuse. What a mess it
Would be to even begin airing this
Place out. Why even start.