poems about brokenness

Unexamination

Recalcitrant, obstinate, obdurate,
Contemptuous. Outwardly aggressive,
Inwardly cowering, the dull throb of
Insecurity never loosens its grip.
Never give, never cede. Resist.
Impose, defy, defile, destroy.

Conquer every inch of ground with
Merciless fury, vehement ardor.
Happiness beckons from the other side.
Nothing beats the intoxicating
Perfume of Pyrrhic victory, unhealed
Wounds, torpid unexamination.

Get the Poetry Collection
Unconventional Being - Minimalist Poetry Book by Guy Farmer

Readers around the world have found pieces of themselves in these poems. Discover the collection.

Get Your Copy on Amazon

Perspective

They had very few
Conversations of any import,
Mostly directive affairs
Where the father talked
At the son, but he remembers
That one time his father told
Him he really liked his
Perspective on self-sufficiency.
Until the day he died,
His father never realized he
Didn’t mean leaving people to
Fend for themselves against
Ruthless corporations and
An inhumane ruling class.
He could never explain,
Some doors just aren’t open.

As If Nothing

Unwittingly,
Irrevocably
Steeped in a
Culture that rewards
Superficial displays of
Bluster masking
Crippling insecurity.
A child flexing his muscle,
Immersed in the language and
Lifestyle of violence,
As if nothing;
Perpetuating misery,
Dysfunction.

Tone

It is the tone of the letter
That is initially off-putting.
Reading on,
Nothing changes.
It’s the same thing
As always…
Words intended
To hurt,
From someone already
In that state.

Petulant

Imperious bluster,
Compulsion to dominate
Absolutely,
In all situations,
Under all conditions,
Unquestioned,
Unchallenged,
Under strict penalty.
All who dare trespass
Sanctified laws suffer
Disproportionate,
Unreasonable,
Consequences.
Guard the child residing
In the tower,
Unnurtured, unloved,
Petulant.

Paramount

He amasses a fortune
Larger than the
Gross domestic product
Of many nations.

This is where he’s
Always wanted to be,
A place where he
Reigns supreme.

All that matters is
House number nine,
Car number fifty-seven,
Continuous gluttonous consumption.

He works night and day,
The maintenance of
His preeminence
Paramount.

Never a thought given
To using his wealth to
Make a meaningful
Difference in the world.

An Impossibility

Expecting the toxic
To do anything but
Destroy everything,
An impossibility unless
Something changes,
Which it never does,
Certain people being
Steadfastly the way
They are unless some
Glimmer of enlightenment
Finds its way inside,
Healing stark brokenness.

He Has All the Answers

He’s sure he has
All the answers,
At least the facile
Ones that don’t require
Much thought or introspection.

It’s been this way
For a long time,
The result of being told
He’s not good enough and
Shouldn’t think for himself.

He vaguely remembers
The time period when
His mind closed,
Leaving only a small opening
For nonsense to get in.

Perpetual Tending

A brutal thirst for anything to
Allay the unquenchable,
Overwhelming yearning to
Climb a fanciful mountain.
Eviscerate every challenge real,
Imagined, more the latter.
Increase the dose to maintain.
Tread water until the next wave.
A sense of invincibility demands
Perpetual tending, sustenance.
Stand in the dark staring
At the same apparition.