Posts Tagged ‘ Society ’

how? – Poem

How do you tell someone something they don’t want to hear?
Something they will hate you for but that they should fear?
Is it unsolicited advice? Sticking your rear end in?
Is it helping them in their time of need? Offering invaluable advice?
How do you calm someone’s anger by agreeing with their enemy?

How do you tell someone that they are in the wrong?
That no matter how much they think they’re perfect, they need to change?
Could it be a suggestion? To do more, alter their lives.
Could it be a hint? At others you’ve seen and the pain.
How do you try and be a friend when you can’t be honest?

How do you tell someone that it’s not just them suffering?
That their actions affect others and are bringing society down?
Should you lie to them? Tell them they’re perfect and it’s unfair?
Should you do the hard thing? And risk losing your friend?
How do you break someone’s heart without ever owning it?

How do you tell someone that the words are true?
Words that sting and say you’re a failure, but true to the core.
Would you verbally slap them? Or comfort them?
Would you shush and soothe them? Or dig the knife in further?
How do you say the words without blood splattering everywhere?

How do you tell someone that you agree wholeheartedly and are glad?
Glad that society has seen and can rescue them all.
Can society solve it alone? Without a whisper from your lips?
Can you escape with your friendship? And them all with respect?
How do you decide whether their lives are worth more than your friend?

How do you tell someone that you’d do things differently?
That you would pass their tests, ensuring society’s future.
Why can’t you tell her? Is it selfish? Self-righteousness?
Why should you speak up? Them. Simply them.
How do you put your trust in a system five years too late?

How do you tell someone the words which would destroy them?
The pain would never heal and they would be lost to you.
Who is more important? Them, you or both?
Whose heart would be lighter by sharing your burdens?
How do you crush them in agreement with a faceless desk?

How do you tell someone that you can make their worst fears reality?
That their imagination is nothing compared to reality?
Watching as their dreams deteriorate into waking nightmares,
As your sleep becomes peaceful now your heart is lighter.
How do you decide what is best for them when you only dream?

How do you tell someone that they don’t deserve to be a forest?
When you suffer in a dry, barren desert as they bask in life?
Is that the whole truth? Or do you want to help?
Is their suffering your salvation? Is it your retribution?
How do you explain that they’re ruining everything you crave?

How do you tell someone they’re selfish and self-obsessed?
How do you decide if you mean them or yourself?
How can you live with yourself telling her your truth?
How can you cope not sharing your truth with her?
How do you find the thin line on which a friend stands?

Author’s/Poet’s note: This is the rough draft, by that, I mean that it has not been subjected to line counting and other things I would do to a poem. It may be at some point. It may not be. I kind of like the roughness of it. It fits the topic as does the repetitiveness and sheer amount of questions! Also, the title is in lower case for a reason and is not a grammatical or spelling error by myself 🙂 And for anyone interested, I still haven’t decided what to say to my friend! Leaning towards saying nothing and just listening to her.

(c) February 1st 2011

 

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Overhearing Normal – Poem

Sitting back and chilling, wine near my hand and cake digesting,
Loud voices permeate the room
There is no privacy remaining in the world, in reality or the pub
Drunken pictures that’ll end up being the one night stand tattoo
Comments that will haunt you like the dead friendships
It will know all your hopes, joys, memories and fears,
Using them all against you.
Nightmares keeping you from sleep,
And you only have yourself to blame.
You bared your soul to the world, now be quiet as the monster devours you,
It knows your inner workings,
It knows how you’ll react
As it chases you down the dark, gloomy alleyway,
Will you turn left or right?
It already knows before you do.
You gave it everything, all of yourself, don’t be surprised.
The inane chatter and pointless topics shared to all with eyes and ears,
It gave you away.
Whispers and tongues are unnecessary with this foe.
Enemies are friends with reasons,
Your downfall was written when you hit enter
All for your own vanity and measuring stick.
Your pacemaker will lose its juice,
The server will lose you
And the soul eater will starve.

© 23rd September 2011

This poem has thematic links to Overlooking Normal.

Substitute – Poem

Apparently I have a voice,
In this impossible choice,
To put another one first,
And make either place worse.
This is my best chance,
To be forgotten with a glance,
To give away part of my heart,
And rip my seams apart.
I could sleep all through the night,
With not even an echo of a fight,
I could silence the screams,
And have uninterrupted dreams.
Except all they would do is scare,
Bolts of pain will hit like a flare,
The heart with a missing hole,
There’s not enough blood for the toll.
To be valiant and to be brave,
Or give in to what I crave,
To put another above me,
So in their future they can be free.
Or remain true to my selfish roots,
Shielding myself from the new shoots,
That mock me from their heights,
As my dreams fail to take flight.
Should things remain or drastically change,
Wallowing in a self-pity far out of range,
And can I risk losing my buffer,
All for a civilised supper?
Which decision is for the best?
To keep me on a par with the rest?
Or to grant prospects to another?
And keep waiting, with the need to smother.

© 2/11/11

 

Click, Quack, Beep – Poem

I got a new job /Click/
My Wife’s a Whore /Click/
I’m in love /Click/
Again /Click/
My Mother’s dead /Click/
I love this show /Quack/
I’m eating dinner, then bed /Quack/
How should I kill myself? /Quack/
LOL, quickly and quietly /Quack/
What are you doing? /Beep/
Where are you? /Beep/
Ditch her, chat with me /Beep/
Hello? Hello?
I’m alone.

© 23rd September 2011

Freebies Cost The World

Due to the snow today I needed to grab a lift rather than getting frozen! On the way home, the lady kind enough to save me from the snowfall had to pick up her child from daycare. She asked the staff how many children had been brought in and the answer was surprising.

In this country every child over a certain age gets a certain number of nursery/daycare hours for free. Any parent who wants their child to go for more has to pay for the extra. So the nursery/preschool in question had tried to open for all of those poor parents that would need to go to work in the snow today. The same way that most schools tried to open so that all the other parents in the country could go to their job.

But, in this nursery/preschool, the other children present were all the freebie people those that get the free hours because they qualify for a range of benefits (free money for some). So all the workers opted, or were forced, to stay home in the snow (some may even have had their pay docked) but could have then played with their children, building snowmen and throwing snowballs – as my friend chose to do after our bosses sent us home. Why would she waste those memories even if she had paid? Memories are priceless.

But what of all these other kids? The ones who made it into nursery? What were there parents doing? Not struggling to get into work. Not wishing they could spend some fun time in the snow. The parents in question get the free hours because they qualify for it alongside benefits which means they don’t work. So did they sit at home alone? Or do whatever is normal for them whilst their kids are in nursery, school or education in general?

From the people I know in that situation, I honestly have no idea what they do with those hours other than watch Jeremy Kyle and play video games surrounded by dirty clothes, piles of dishes and overflowing ash trays. But the parents at my friend’s nursery chose to not play with their children, forcing the nursery workers to remain working when perhaps they have children of their own and would love to close early.

In trying to be fair, the unfairness gap simply grows.

~ Persephone M
P.S. I know there are those on benefits because they work just not enough hours. I also know there are those that can’t work or can’t find work. I know I’m generalising, but I’m not the only one doing it and there are plenty of bone idle people out there.

Poem: Overlooking Normal

Standing there alone, her balcony to the world below,
She’s alone with her thoughts as the world passes by.
It’s all at her feet and it could all be hers, if she wanted it,
Or she could stand there alone with no desires met.
It’s all superficial in her sector of the world,
All about looks, possessions and not what’s inside.

Her shocking pink towelling keeps her warm under the sun,
Keeps the naturally heated yellow from her orange skin.
The tartrazine hair that’s brittle and scraped up,
Barely blows on the motionless early morning outing.
Bare footed on the decking, her toes wriggle free,
A few minutes left and then her comfy couch will beckon.

The traffic hums beneath her, steadily throughout the day,
A normal lull after and before the working day times.
She only knows from her hourly foray into sunlight,
That others have a routine more complex than she.
The children passing her, pass her by without a care,
An occasional glance and smirk at their awaiting life.

Across the road on which they all run, hidden in bricks,
The cooks of the future practice hard behind the black outs.
Wondrous smells diffuse through the fog and smoke,
Of foreign dishes, natural methods, no added toxins.
She knows nothing of what occurs behind the open windows,
She knows only of tins, cans, jars, of take-aways, of junk.

Huffing and puffing, her head’s almost lost in the clouds,
A life wasted some would say, a life enjoyed by her.
She knows nothing else, doesn’t understand “potential”,
Young or old, because who can tell with the added lines,
A sadness washes over me for what she believes in,
Daytime TV on the sofa, Nighttime dancing on a floor.

In the corner, everything’s piling up: dirty clothes, dirty dishes,
A pile of babies play near by, fighting and screaming.
In that minute of peace, she forgets all about the life inside,
Only to return and Yell for silence to watch her shows.
They’ll follow her example from now and to forever,
Living worse than rats, reproducing like bunnies and her.

She was never given potential, or the room to grow,
The same punishment falls upon them now, doomed.
None know of anything else, their cards have been dealt,
They can see no escape from their Alcatraz, my Hell.
Until men walk in and buy her a drink, receiving much more,
He can be the new father, he can be her saviour.

It all turns sour from the first sobering moment,
Yet they all cling on, sinking further away from potential.
She yells and she screams, she fights with the men,
Then yells and screams at the babies for fighting back.
Until someone breaks and the men flee in the night,
Leaving heartbroken babies and another on the way.

(c) Persephone Muse 16th July 2011
I wrote this last year, inspired by a woman who still persists on watching the real world pass her by. Simultaneously, I’m able to look down upon her, look up to her and meet her eyes dead on.
~ Persephone M

Layers – Poem

Living high upon high, in a castle made of old, the sun glitters more,
There are gold flecks, trailing out across the hills just for them.
Living in their splendour, they want for nothing and don’t know pain,
Nor hope, nor light, nor the pressure from living beneath.


Living boxed in by concrete, pretending it could be silver, the sun’s faked,
Artificial food colouring pumped into the hydrogen-helium mix.
Until it builds and they’re wiped from their pitiful, elevated existence,
Easing the pain from their exhaust fuelled coughs and bloody sputters.



Living on the sea, riding the ups and downs, the sun reaches most,
Helping and aiding, guiding life along so nothing is a problem.
Hard work and toil, with a lump of luck, tans their skin until dark,
Hope, light, pain and pressure is a constant for them for now.



Living on the land, the green or the grey, occasional sun sputters through,
Nothing is handed out, nothing is taken for granted, yet their eyes see all.
Living for themselves, for the fakers and the golden, they still see hope,
And light and goodness. For now.



© Persephone Muse 16th November 2011