Poetry competition CLOSED 11th November 2011 00:56am
WINNER
mjs211 (MikeTheEngineer)
mjs211 (MikeTheEngineer)
Social commentary
A proper conductor
Accustomed to his own silence
In this worlds forever belated belief
They would find his ritual
A relief
Another clip tickles his ear
Continuous but brief
Gaze upon these tickets
At the clip of off and ons
And at these gatherers of grief
Oriented coats and servants
Passengers of fudge
They would paint him as a thief
With their orchestra of likes and dislikes
Inappropriate symphony
And the begrudging
Bitter taste of disharmony
This bus will take us home now
And with such brevity too
For
For him it was simply meant to be
That we should stumble
So briefly
Into his mind numbing eternity
Accustomed to his own silence
In this worlds forever belated belief
They would find his ritual
A relief
Another clip tickles his ear
Continuous but brief
Gaze upon these tickets
At the clip of off and ons
And at these gatherers of grief
Oriented coats and servants
Passengers of fudge
They would paint him as a thief
With their orchestra of likes and dislikes
Inappropriate symphony
And the begrudging
Bitter taste of disharmony
This bus will take us home now
And with such brevity too
For
For him it was simply meant to be
That we should stumble
So briefly
Into his mind numbing eternity
[font=Courier New][size=2]
< "to be announced" >
the poster says
"to be announced"
but why put a poster like that up?
maybe it should say:
"i wanted to tell you that i haven't made up my mind
as to what the fuck i will tell you so you'll just have to wait
but at least i'm being polite enough to tell you i don't really
know what the fuck is coming up and i don't even know
(and you'll have to excuse this personal aside on a poster this public)
what i'm going to be wearing tomorrow
hell i don't even know what i'm wearing right now
except for the shoes
i know which shoes i'm wearing
it's those ones with the really complex soles with the tiny groves
that take forever to get dog shit out of
and they swirl around making shapes that slightly resemble the water
at night
under the bridge down the block that's deep and scares me
because i always start to feel what it would be like to fall in
from standing too close which i always do and it would just take
some loose gravel a slight twitch from a tired knee or me
so i wanted to tell you that i haven't made up my mind
and that's why i put the poster up"
- - -
< "to be announced" >
the poster says
"to be announced"
but why put a poster like that up?
maybe it should say:
"i wanted to tell you that i haven't made up my mind
as to what the fuck i will tell you so you'll just have to wait
but at least i'm being polite enough to tell you i don't really
know what the fuck is coming up and i don't even know
(and you'll have to excuse this personal aside on a poster this public)
what i'm going to be wearing tomorrow
hell i don't even know what i'm wearing right now
except for the shoes
i know which shoes i'm wearing
it's those ones with the really complex soles with the tiny groves
that take forever to get dog shit out of
and they swirl around making shapes that slightly resemble the water
at night
under the bridge down the block that's deep and scares me
because i always start to feel what it would be like to fall in
from standing too close which i always do and it would just take
some loose gravel a slight twitch from a tired knee or me
so i wanted to tell you that i haven't made up my mind
and that's why i put the poster up"
- - -
For Green Leaves on the Ground
I've always wanted to be a tree,
you said. To watch the world pass.
To stand on a corner and watch
the people go. To be bigger than them,
bigger than just people, man, that's
what I've always wanted. No worries
for your roots 'cause you've got no family,
no need to be a part of something else,
just your roots in the ground, man.
It's depth in height.
As for me, I was only half listening,
with my gaze fixed fast on the ground
where a branch lay full of green leaves.
Something decided these leaves weren't right,
pulled them off and left them to die, to wither,
believing they're still alive to the end, bright
waxy green cheeks paling, drying, disintegrating.
And nobody cries for green leaves on the ground.
You've always wanted to be a tree, I said
'cause you've never felt like more than this.
He works his shift everyday
And only gets a small pay
He climbs down the shafts
hurting his ass
I still wonder
why he is a coal miner
I can't imagine a worse place
To be in all day
The dangers are real
And you barely get meals
And only gets a small pay
He climbs down the shafts
hurting his ass
I still wonder
why he is a coal miner
I can't imagine a worse place
To be in all day
The dangers are real
And you barely get meals
He turns the sign over
like he does every day
from open to closed
but tomorrow
the sign won't be turned
to open again.
he can blame the economy
the bank, politics, taxes
fickle tastes of customers
even Walmart had a hand
but he rakes his hand through his hair
takes down the plaques
his first dollar
business certificate
state sales tax paper
tosses them in the last box
full of inventory and dreams
turns out the lights
locks the door
two years ago this life
was too good to be true
and much like the rest of his life
all of his hopes and dreams
find him in default
like he does every day
from open to closed
but tomorrow
the sign won't be turned
to open again.
he can blame the economy
the bank, politics, taxes
fickle tastes of customers
even Walmart had a hand
but he rakes his hand through his hair
takes down the plaques
his first dollar
business certificate
state sales tax paper
tosses them in the last box
full of inventory and dreams
turns out the lights
locks the door
two years ago this life
was too good to be true
and much like the rest of his life
all of his hopes and dreams
find him in default
(Never Warned)
In this era of love or lust
a little girl is sheltered from the world.
Today she turned eighteen, so they let her free.
Shes out on her own finding that life
is not as her parents had made it out to be.
A boy appears, he seems so nice
she thinks he's here to help.
Only now she never saw it comming
she's tied to a bed and has
been beaten in the head.
This is nothing that she was prepared for.
Her parents never warned
Now her world is shattered and torn
when this boy sets her free
she's too afraid to tell
instead she heads to her bed
with some pills, a knife and a bottle of gin
she decides to go out with a bang.
Pills down the throat with the bottle of gin
then to cutting she goes.
As her ruby red blood falls so does she
gone forever, her last few hours shrouded in mystery.
Her parents cry but only for her death
they do not realize that it is all their fault
that their sheltered little girl is
gone and away.
In this era of love or lust
a little girl is sheltered from the world.
Today she turned eighteen, so they let her free.
Shes out on her own finding that life
is not as her parents had made it out to be.
A boy appears, he seems so nice
she thinks he's here to help.
Only now she never saw it comming
she's tied to a bed and has
been beaten in the head.
This is nothing that she was prepared for.
Her parents never warned
Now her world is shattered and torn
when this boy sets her free
she's too afraid to tell
instead she heads to her bed
with some pills, a knife and a bottle of gin
she decides to go out with a bang.
Pills down the throat with the bottle of gin
then to cutting she goes.
As her ruby red blood falls so does she
gone forever, her last few hours shrouded in mystery.
Her parents cry but only for her death
they do not realize that it is all their fault
that their sheltered little girl is
gone and away.
my social commentary for the day 
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/30936-power-from-the-people/
are we allowed multiple submissions?
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/30936-power-from-the-people/
are we allowed multiple submissions?
- A Persian Warrior -
In a time known to history, but forgotten by man,
The mighty Persian army brought low old Babylon.
Great was Babylon, that empire across the sand…
But the power of old Persia had that lost war won,
Leaving blood and desolation, both far and near.
I was there when the Ishtar Gate fell into splinters!
I was there when the proud kings knew utter fear.
My axe held high, the steel in the sun ever glitters,
But that light is soon covered in the blood of men,
And you keep being told to take a life yet again…
King Cyrus did liberate the Hebrews on that day,
And became to their people, a hero in every way.
You don’t become a hero by doing as told…
You become a hero by being both kind and bold.
But no king was I, just a man who saw too much,
Of battle, and bloodshed, that few could watch…
My axe slew scores of the army of Marduk proud,
My ears heard the sounds of trumpets calling loud.
Amidst the screams of men both dying and dead…
I walked in utter madness of both wrath and dread.
We were there to liberate a people long suffering…
We were there to bring glory to country and king.
But it is hard to think of glory, when life is spent…
And from a dozen wounds your body is soon rent.
In the end, you are told you are a hero renowned,
But you no longer care by then, for king or crown.
You don’t become a hero by doing as told…
You become a hero by being both kind and bold.
The smoke of Babylon, was black in the hot sun…
The desert was cruel, but crueler things were done.
Idols were cast down and palaces were laid low…
We believed God had told us, that all had to be so.
But I saw a hurt child, lying bloody in the streets…
Wounded by a man I once called comrade, friend!
God never did command such evil for His needs…
I slew my old comrade to save the child in the end.
When the war was over, I kept the child I saved…
She became my daughter, as the banners waved.
For her I never again took up the axe in any cause,
To her, I was hero enough to earn men’s applause.
You don’t become a hero by doing as told…
You become a hero by being both kind and bold.
In a time known to history, but forgotten by man,
The mighty Persian army brought low old Babylon.
Great was Babylon, that empire across the sand…
But the power of old Persia had that lost war won,
Leaving blood and desolation, both far and near.
I was there when the Ishtar Gate fell into splinters!
I was there when the proud kings knew utter fear.
My axe held high, the steel in the sun ever glitters,
But that light is soon covered in the blood of men,
And you keep being told to take a life yet again…
King Cyrus did liberate the Hebrews on that day,
And became to their people, a hero in every way.
You don’t become a hero by doing as told…
You become a hero by being both kind and bold.
But no king was I, just a man who saw too much,
Of battle, and bloodshed, that few could watch…
My axe slew scores of the army of Marduk proud,
My ears heard the sounds of trumpets calling loud.
Amidst the screams of men both dying and dead…
I walked in utter madness of both wrath and dread.
We were there to liberate a people long suffering…
We were there to bring glory to country and king.
But it is hard to think of glory, when life is spent…
And from a dozen wounds your body is soon rent.
In the end, you are told you are a hero renowned,
But you no longer care by then, for king or crown.
You don’t become a hero by doing as told…
You become a hero by being both kind and bold.
The smoke of Babylon, was black in the hot sun…
The desert was cruel, but crueler things were done.
Idols were cast down and palaces were laid low…
We believed God had told us, that all had to be so.
But I saw a hurt child, lying bloody in the streets…
Wounded by a man I once called comrade, friend!
God never did command such evil for His needs…
I slew my old comrade to save the child in the end.
When the war was over, I kept the child I saved…
She became my daughter, as the banners waved.
For her I never again took up the axe in any cause,
To her, I was hero enough to earn men’s applause.
You don’t become a hero by doing as told…
You become a hero by being both kind and bold.
The Perfect Murder
The world is hungry and it's eating me alive
More More More
Buy Buy Buy
Statistically, the watchers are the casualties
Paperdolls cut out to be consumers
Hand in hand consuming each other
The brainwash in a box just tells us to lather, rinse, repeat
This Friday Friday Friday
Work until you're dead or you'll never get fed
Would the information go deeper with a bullet in their heads?
In TV land and on the Web where the most needy seem to be the ones who have,
Where they set the standard and all you have to do is reach the bar
Where their hands are always out, open-palmed and empty, tearing at your clothes so you will have to
Buy Buy Buy
More More More
Your stupid little smile lets you laugh the days away
Laugh so you forget
Laugh out loud but they'll never let you go
A prison built behind your eyes, electrified
A choke collar tethered to your empty and unsatisfied desires
A siren's song of moving pictures takes you far far away from the home you never recognized
The pressures of life disappear in the explosions and sordid sex appeal
All the drama and the comedy you could ever want to feel is still never enough
It's such a burden having free will that I don't want it anymore
I'd gladly give it up for another bullet to the head
Guidance is the only thing I ever asked for
But if it could only wait until the next commercial break that would be perfect
Jaded by repetition and sales-pitch saturation
Build a life around the onslaught of sensationalized sensation
Tonight my favorite character saves the world!
and the control to stop it all is just out of reach
But the never ending stimuli drowns out the want to see life where there is silence
If the noise were to disappear I might remember what I watch so hard to forget
Impossible expectations
Like a meteor wanting to make a postive and helpful impact
Maybe once I go to college I'll be up a link on the food chain, working to get fed
And I'll have someone else to boss around, with a bullet in their head
The world is hungry and it's eating me alive
More More More
Buy Buy Buy
Statistically, the watchers are the casualties
Paperdolls cut out to be consumers
Hand in hand consuming each other
The brainwash in a box just tells us to lather, rinse, repeat
This Friday Friday Friday
Work until you're dead or you'll never get fed
Would the information go deeper with a bullet in their heads?
In TV land and on the Web where the most needy seem to be the ones who have,
Where they set the standard and all you have to do is reach the bar
Where their hands are always out, open-palmed and empty, tearing at your clothes so you will have to
Buy Buy Buy
More More More
Your stupid little smile lets you laugh the days away
Laugh so you forget
Laugh out loud but they'll never let you go
A prison built behind your eyes, electrified
A choke collar tethered to your empty and unsatisfied desires
A siren's song of moving pictures takes you far far away from the home you never recognized
The pressures of life disappear in the explosions and sordid sex appeal
All the drama and the comedy you could ever want to feel is still never enough
It's such a burden having free will that I don't want it anymore
I'd gladly give it up for another bullet to the head
Guidance is the only thing I ever asked for
But if it could only wait until the next commercial break that would be perfect
Jaded by repetition and sales-pitch saturation
Build a life around the onslaught of sensationalized sensation
Tonight my favorite character saves the world!
and the control to stop it all is just out of reach
But the never ending stimuli drowns out the want to see life where there is silence
If the noise were to disappear I might remember what I watch so hard to forget
Impossible expectations
Like a meteor wanting to make a postive and helpful impact
Maybe once I go to college I'll be up a link on the food chain, working to get fed
And I'll have someone else to boss around, with a bullet in their head
THE MAN OUTSIDE THE STATION (Potrait of an artist as an old man) (Pun intended!)
"A splash of green! A daub of black
A hair line brilliant red! A generous throw of blue
My eyes inspect as my fingers move
Relentlessly over the naked earth
Coarse, dark skin over rough, dry land
Creating art or may be an illusion/imagery
Which holds their eyes for a fleeting moment
A metallic tingle follows! Another coin
The price of my art! The price of another loaf('paav')
The 'Shiva' finally emerges! Half of him!
Combined with another 'half' of 'Shakti'
The perfect union. Yin and Yang. 'Ardhnareshwar'!
Pacific yet fiery! Charcoal with vermilion!
And cheap industrial colours. My resources!
Someone claps from behind..more tinkles follow
Someone bends down and hands over a note
Taps on my frail shoulder and wipes his hand (a moment later)
Of germs, dust and possible contagious misfortune
In another hour they would be all gone!
And new commuters will replace! New faces!
The continuous rumble of trains will go on
A constant companion! And there would be dogs.
'Outcast, sober and skeletal beings...regulars!'
In the night my daughter would wake up
And fetch some food-stale curry and bread
And we would munch on alongside the canines
all social lepers...unfortunate ones
I might then smoke a 'joint' to ease the throbbing pain
Cheap weed from Nepal! My painkiller! My vacation!
And I would crawl away to the pavement
To take my place besides my daughter-another silent spectator!
Cursed even before she was brought forth(Misery)
The moon would dance and rise over the sky
And a majestic tapestry of reality and illusion
(All could be attributed to the dust green weed!)
I don't ponder or reminisce -from years of practice
I just watch and I use my eyes-like kaleidoscopes!
Looking at the world, taking cues for the next day
May be a 'skeleton' over a 'burning globe'-the future of us?
Or may be a bright crimson monkey god-'Hanuman'!
Displaying his lords like 'caged birds'('prized medals')
Four hours of work followed by another two of calligraphy
As i would write the myths-created by and for 'us'
Followed by my own misery-my stumps, my daughter's inadequacy
My daily life-the toiling of a had day and the higher revenue
And the vacation at the night!
From reality -from gloom and the formations in my mind
Of a design-a shape, a structure for art-on sale, on demand
For the 'pangs', for the 'recreation'..for some currency notes
'I am no artist. I am no celebrity. I don't have a niche audience.'
I am a legless man, a sufferer, an escapist..a 'father'!(pained smile)
I am destiny's illegitimate child, society's celebrity leprosy!
It would be another day soon...more curious faces!
More hunger, more throbbing, harder sun and even harder gazes!
From..someone evaluating my work-If worthy of a 'one rupee coin'."
"A splash of green! A daub of black
A hair line brilliant red! A generous throw of blue
My eyes inspect as my fingers move
Relentlessly over the naked earth
Coarse, dark skin over rough, dry land
Creating art or may be an illusion/imagery
Which holds their eyes for a fleeting moment
A metallic tingle follows! Another coin
The price of my art! The price of another loaf('paav')
The 'Shiva' finally emerges! Half of him!
Combined with another 'half' of 'Shakti'
The perfect union. Yin and Yang. 'Ardhnareshwar'!
Pacific yet fiery! Charcoal with vermilion!
And cheap industrial colours. My resources!
Someone claps from behind..more tinkles follow
Someone bends down and hands over a note
Taps on my frail shoulder and wipes his hand (a moment later)
Of germs, dust and possible contagious misfortune
In another hour they would be all gone!
And new commuters will replace! New faces!
The continuous rumble of trains will go on
A constant companion! And there would be dogs.
'Outcast, sober and skeletal beings...regulars!'
In the night my daughter would wake up
And fetch some food-stale curry and bread
And we would munch on alongside the canines
all social lepers...unfortunate ones
I might then smoke a 'joint' to ease the throbbing pain
Cheap weed from Nepal! My painkiller! My vacation!
And I would crawl away to the pavement
To take my place besides my daughter-another silent spectator!
Cursed even before she was brought forth(Misery)
The moon would dance and rise over the sky
And a majestic tapestry of reality and illusion
(All could be attributed to the dust green weed!)
I don't ponder or reminisce -from years of practice
I just watch and I use my eyes-like kaleidoscopes!
Looking at the world, taking cues for the next day
May be a 'skeleton' over a 'burning globe'-the future of us?
Or may be a bright crimson monkey god-'Hanuman'!
Displaying his lords like 'caged birds'('prized medals')
Four hours of work followed by another two of calligraphy
As i would write the myths-created by and for 'us'
Followed by my own misery-my stumps, my daughter's inadequacy
My daily life-the toiling of a had day and the higher revenue
And the vacation at the night!
From reality -from gloom and the formations in my mind
Of a design-a shape, a structure for art-on sale, on demand
For the 'pangs', for the 'recreation'..for some currency notes
'I am no artist. I am no celebrity. I don't have a niche audience.'
I am a legless man, a sufferer, an escapist..a 'father'!(pained smile)
I am destiny's illegitimate child, society's celebrity leprosy!
It would be another day soon...more curious faces!
More hunger, more throbbing, harder sun and even harder gazes!
From..someone evaluating my work-If worthy of a 'one rupee coin'."
The things peaple do
to their children
if one did these things
to a dog
the dog would be taken away
one would not get the dog back
but with children
one gives them back
i know children are not dogs
but at least one could
give a child
the same leval of protection
as one would a dog
to their children
if one did these things
to a dog
the dog would be taken away
one would not get the dog back
but with children
one gives them back
i know children are not dogs
but at least one could
give a child
the same leval of protection
as one would a dog
Anonymous
Deviant Love
And we’ll continue…Staring through piercing
eyes, to the depths of the murky soul. Searching
for an open, inviting heart, pumping energy and
emotional security. Dreaming of a tomorrow,
fantasising of a future. Imagining the dominant core.
Feeling the enthusiastic force from the depths of the groin.
And this has become the norm.
Stars, twirling, whirling, mystically swirling
anti clockwise, around their vivid dreamy
intelligence. And yes, declares interest
with a resounding positive energy, speckled
in a glittery elegant magnetic magic.
And stands before you - with an overexposed
heart. Minds exploding in the torment of possibilities,
naturally in the depth of future opportunities.
The magnificence of age is un-expected.
Sweet sixteen yet to be seen. Just too young.
Still they ponder on the inexperienced offering
seen before them, believed as authentic.
Perhaps they are told, because the elders
know- no- better. Or perhaps it’s the old-aged-adage
parents don’t understand. Has it not occurred, it’s the
enjoyment of the act, that their lives leave testament of?
And we will perish to provide for and protect an exploding
heart. Still in the darkest hours, lustful screams, moan
in unbroken voices, and incomplete bodies. We stare
at a generation disease ridden, pregnant, financially
dependant and bereft of ability. Prepare for
the magnificent birth of a new untainted fragile
heart and stand watch…
In waiting for the process to begin again.
And we’ll continue…Staring through piercing
eyes, to the depths of the murky soul. Searching
for an open, inviting heart, pumping energy and
emotional security. Dreaming of a tomorrow,
fantasising of a future. Imagining the dominant core.
Feeling the enthusiastic force from the depths of the groin.
And this has become the norm.
Stars, twirling, whirling, mystically swirling
anti clockwise, around their vivid dreamy
intelligence. And yes, declares interest
with a resounding positive energy, speckled
in a glittery elegant magnetic magic.
And stands before you - with an overexposed
heart. Minds exploding in the torment of possibilities,
naturally in the depth of future opportunities.
The magnificence of age is un-expected.
Sweet sixteen yet to be seen. Just too young.
Still they ponder on the inexperienced offering
seen before them, believed as authentic.
Perhaps they are told, because the elders
know- no- better. Or perhaps it’s the old-aged-adage
parents don’t understand. Has it not occurred, it’s the
enjoyment of the act, that their lives leave testament of?
And we will perish to provide for and protect an exploding
heart. Still in the darkest hours, lustful screams, moan
in unbroken voices, and incomplete bodies. We stare
at a generation disease ridden, pregnant, financially
dependant and bereft of ability. Prepare for
the magnificent birth of a new untainted fragile
heart and stand watch…
In waiting for the process to begin again.
