Best Piece Of Work Poems
I sat on the couch in her office.
I'm a piece of work
She asked me "what ails you?"
I smiled because I didn't know better.
I smiled as I spoke of the pills I took last night,
And of the piano tutor who took me
Even though I was only twelve.
I know he was a pervert
But I drowned my sorrows in sherbert
And cut myself for twelve more years.
Her jaw dropped.
The feelings rise out of my body and into the air
Like bubbles in a can of diet cola.
I try to grab on to them
I try to understand the horror on my therapist's face.
The bubbles break on my skin;
All I'm left with is a saccharine grin
And no more insight than I had last night
When lay on my bed with a vial of Xanax and a bottle of gin.
Line of inquiry
‘Minus Identity Who am I’
‘What a piece of work is a man!’
……… ………
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust’
(Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Act II, scene 2)
From Shakespeare, through Hamlet,
It rings down to generations
And falls heavily in my ears too.
In vain, I attempt to probe into the mystery
Nay, the enigma called man,
Both in the silence of my solitude,
And in the learned circle of friends.
(Fool…! Unable to find who you are,
Can you venture to say who the other man is?)
Man is a jumble of contradictions,
I know, a hard nut to crack!
So unfathomable, so mysterious
At once a Satan and an angel
To the outer world I am someone.
But in the well-guarded cellars of my privacy
Aren’t I different?
Hiding my innards to light, as every other man.
Am I not a masked player in life’s pantomime!
I wonder what’s true to my being
And what makes me, the real me.
I see contradictions abound in me
And my personality, like an ocean is volatile,
Sometimes tranquil, sometimes agitated
Placid without waves very often,
But at times roaring with billows crashing!
I am openminded, but hide many secrets.
I am instinctively emotional, but mature.
I am an extrovert and feel happy in company,
But I like to withdraw into loneliness often.
I am mostly thoughtful, but tend to overthink.
I act confident but am diffident at heart.
Though satisfied with what I get,
I tend to crave more for the love people give me.
I am a poet and an artist, feeding on the encouragement I get
And stimulated by internal inspiration.
I am never a nosy parker, but curious about things
That pique my interest, be it of people or of the world.
I am a good listener, but need someone to listen to me.
I am easy to get along with, but get easily flustered.
I am compassionate, adjustable, loyal and humble.
At best I am a child of God, but lets the Satan,
Take over me sometimes when my temper rises.
How often, I wish to change myself
Change some of my characteristic traits
But minus my identity, I fear who I will be?
Sweetest child in the school
5th grade
Giant puppy
If you said the sweetest kid ever
I could name him
And I would
Cry Cry Cry
I feel horrible.
Bring him to my office
Who hurt him?
What did they say?
What did they do?
In Mama Bear mode
I am going to take no prisoners
They can lie in cages eating wallpaper
And will want to after I get finished with them
Many tears later I discover
The trickster told him that he said that they said that he said that she said.
I am horrified.
I have taught six million lessons on
Not being stirred up by he-said-she-said nonsense
We discuss my lessons
Which he forgot in the heat of the moment
I know the instigator. He is a piece of work.
Can stir faster than me even, and I am pretty good at it.
Finally change subject
What will he do tonight for fun?
He finally says play ball.
A bit of a smile
Tears start
Then tears up again.
His bat is lost.
Wait a second, I say.
In the house?
Head nod.
It has to be under
something long, a bed
or a couch right?
He is stymied
Not sure now what
emotion to feel
“Do you mean I am going to have
to come to your house tonight and find our bat?”
He gives me directions and his address.
I smile.
“And what would your mother say if an old woman
Came to your house to help you find our bat?”
He stares at me a long time.
“Thank you?” he whispers.
I love sweet supersensitive
Innocent 5th grade boys
Before they fall into
the clutches of the 21-year-old
6th grade girls.
Politicians are the most pretentious
to emerge from the primordial mulch
of creation.
They pretend to love,
they pretend to care,
In the case of them doing any deal
remotely benefiting constituents
is on condition they profit in prestige,
wealth and a seat, a boardroom chair.
They hug an old lady its a photo opp
They kiss a baby its a god damn video shot,
Even though the homeless is festering,
lacking in compassion, bolstering they bray,
But miss the point that businesses has
reneged on paying a livable wage
The politicians are one piece of work,
weird that they represent the rich and
well to do,
and to you, dem stuff dem chest with
ashes while exiting poverty,
they knew which way the wind blew
Well, money pour to the centre augmented
by a guard of honor rough beast of men,
though shroud now, don't be surprise when
you find its the politicians.
Phoenix the dawg
There in my yard is a dawg name
phoenix
One stubborn black *****
Easily identified by her signature hind
limp
Now, is not that she's without redeeming qualities
But that dawg no matter how you call har
she seems hard of hearing
While it well known that's a choice she is making
Cause the merest sound har ear perk,
she jump up and start barking
Phoenix the real mix I love to say
But jah know, dis dawg personify
the adjective play
I leave her sometimes under a mango
tree loosely chain
Where her kennel is to cover her when
it rain
A piece of work she is even when she is
on rein
Cause har mouth nuh cry quit, she get wey under mi van already and bite the wiring to
total disarray
Yet, phoenix is a unique dawg,
black as midnight with a face like a
happy smile....wg
Writing is an art in different forms. We write to inspire and to inform. No indifference in feelings among writers, poets, playwrights and the like because writing is for everybody. We express different moods in various words; different colors in writing, different blending in thinking. Writing is not a game of chance, but the fulfillment of a serious game of beauty, balance and transparency.
Not everyone may be interested in poetry or writing of any kind. We may not be born as writers, but we excel and interpret things and thoughts the easier way for everybody in the world to understand. The appreciation and fulfillment in writing can only be possible when the reader feels the rhythm and adrenaline in each piece of work or writing that the thinker (poet/poetess and/or writer) does or makes.
There is prestige in writing. And writing is for everyone... both an art and right!
an art piece of work
blithe elated and joyful
intoxicated
My girl and I rented a house,
A cottage of our own.
She said: "I have one condition,
And this is set in stone."
"I expect only honesty;
A man, forthright and true."
She warned, if I should ever lie,
Our love affair is through.
Damned if I do, damned if I don't;
It's a catch twenty two.
I lose if I don't tell the truth,
And I lose if I do.
One night she baked a casserole,
And asked me what I thought.
I said it tasted terrible!
The truth was what she got.
She asked how she looked in a dress,
Which caused another spat,
I said, babe that's a pretty dress,
But it makes you look fat.
And then on Superbowl Sunday,
She got more of the same.
When asked if I'd like to cuddle,
I said: "after the game."
When her parents came to visit,
I called her mom a witch.
She claimed I wasn't good enough,
Because I wasn't rich.
Her father was a piece of work,
I guess that's how it goes,
He called me every name he could,
I punched him in the nose.
Once at a karaoke bar,
She butchered Blue Bayou.
She asked me, and I told the truth,
"Singing is not for you."
I hated renting videos,
She'd always rent chick flicks!
And I would fall asleep between
Her nudges and her kicks.
Last night she said she's leaving me,
She met somebody new.
He likes her parents, and the way
She sounds on Blue Bayou.
He says he loves her casserole,
It never makes him sick.
She says he hates the Superbowl,
And loves to watch chick flicks.
So girls, if love is what you seek,
I hate to spoil your plan.
The guy you're REALLY looking for,
Is NOT an honest man.
As I did gaze upon her for the first time as she labored in small shop in what appeared to be
a hole in a wall that open into this place where she did work all day. Almaz was an Ethiopian
beauty with gorges reddish color hair which was filled with big curly locks that seem to flow
into an endless chasm of never ending twist and turns, with a smile that seem to light up that
tiny little room. A rare beauty was she to behold, elegant yet graceful and humble in her
soul…as I did watch her as she did strategically place each flower by hand one by one and
with each gentile twist or turn of her soft golden tone skin colored hands until a work of art
was form inside of each vase that they did adorn.
Sometimes the vases were made of glass or maybe of some type of fine cultivated stone …
but each one that was made to become a work of art made to express someone else’s
declared love or concern for a love of family member or even the lost of an unrequited love
and she did do her best to express their thoughts with the arrangement made from the heart.
With her beautiful brown eye’s that seem to tell a story of a pain and a deep love for her
family… that she displayed with each piece of work that she did make. With each day of hard
work in this small shop where she toiled all day in her endless attempt to repay her family
for a debt that she so desperately wanted to repay…for it was the love of her father that had
brought Almaz the flower arranger to this place.
So many people do take the love of their family for granted, but… no not this lady…no not
this lady…no not her ever, not even for a second in a day. Almaz made the flowers arrange
all day, all for a debt of love that she wanted to repay. Little did she know that it was already
repaid in full… with a father’s silent pray of love to see his daughter in a place where her
dreams could blossom in the promise land, were no Kings are crowned or Queens ruled, but
in this place of commoners were freedom was born to rule. Were even the poorest of men
could rise to the highest office in the land. Truly your father has completed his arrangement
in the vase with the most beautiful flower that he could find to place it in for the whole world
to see, Almaz you are that flower that completes his arrangement.
Be careful she's a piece of work
She'll break your heart and leave you hurt
You see her hips, you see her thighs
That devilish spark in her eyes
She's got you hooked, you think you've
Fallen in love, you bought her a drink
She gave you a hug
You're a bit faded, she takes you home
She gives you the sweetest taboo
But it's unknown
You awake in the morning, she has your cab outside,
The smell of lust on the sheets run wild
So you leave a couple of bucks on the dresser nearby
She's no wife, she's no little girl
She belongs to many men in this world
She'll continue her search, she's out there
And she's a piece of work
-Ashley Humes
5/03/12
Blessed beyond words am I
having to somnambulate to lectures
for endless hours every day
and slumber throughout these fixtures
That never-ending piece of work
- due tomorrow - cannot wait
An alteration in which this quirk
becomes a lifestyle in which I slave till late
Aren't I blessed with splinters
of shattered pieces from the windowpane
through which, until repaired, the icy winters
reward me with fierce wind and rain
Just as - could I ever count the gains
of burst pipes or broken timing belts,
when nothing else for me remains
as to observe just how my money melts…
How blessed am I by those arguments
and resentful quotes from siblings,
those wounds of umbrageous comments
and ever-continuous quibblings
How grateful am I for that piercing voice
of a parent shouting out the wishes
which kill the silence, with a noise
that echoes “Wash the dishes!”
Blessed beyond boundaries am I
getting up before the sun starts peeping,
and wandering to church every Sunny day,
while the world out there remains sleeping
Indeed, boundlessly blessed in disguise
I am educated, I can read, can write
In the mornings I am able to arise
and walk with both my feet to fly my kite…
Even though those scattered splinters lie
I have a home in which I’m safe
I am equipped with wings to fly
with all I need to surf the wave
Angels for sisters, superheroes the brothers -
priceless gifts directly from above
I am blessed to have these siblings
that know, understand, still unconditionally love
Not always do I see the privilege
of still having both parents that care
and with loving hearts, being the first image
that for this life, me prepare
Blessed beyond boundaries
that destinies, contingencies down here
could never be left to happen without
Him giving His blessing from high up there…
**This is a special set of poetry written with my friend Justin Connor--we each wrote separate accounts of special companions. The ending verse we wrote together. These poems are meant to be one piece of work. **
Scarcely a year old, I remember with sad, sinking heart
But then I smile, because I remember all the good times
It was the night of Pentecost, our little kitten was found
My mother, happy to bring in the oddest of pets,
Curled her fingers around a small kitten, beaming
And there was sunlight in all eyes all the night
He had been crying in the bushes for a place to stay
And he had found one…it might have been destiny
There was something in his green eyes that dazzled me
Weakening and strengthening my heart all in one I held him in my arms,
A special cat on a special day
Pentecost is his name, and it is here he will remain
I remember everyone loved him because of his grace
That dreamy eye and soft-hearted face
I remember the first night and many more nights to come
I turned my music box, opened it up and sang him a song
He listened intently and soon was fast asleep
His small colorful multi-marked body breathing deeply
His tiny, white boot legs tucked under his chest
“You’re the best, Pentecost,” I whispered. “You’re the best…”
Even my father, who was never fond of cats,
Was won over by his embraceable charms
Pentecost would spawn an effort to make him smile
Stretching out on the floor making sure everyone was watching
Listening lovingly to my dad’s favorite classical repertoire..
He would ring around our ankles with his paws playfully
Causing us to scream in shock and skip away
He would jump back from the shriek making us laugh up a storm
And look up at all the noise curiously
Pentecost also liked small boxes to squeeze into
I would lift up a cardboard flap to see a whiskered jewel
And he would look up at us and wonder
Can we make room for two?
He favored no one and was friendly with all
Long and muscular, this cat had boundless energy
One point he’d be at the window
And the next in the laundry, his tail whipping
What I will never forget was how happy he would lay in the grass
I would watch him and pet him, the sun hitting his fur
Gray black stripes and swirls of art lighting all at once
His soft, sensitive ears rubbing against my arm
The affection was mutual as Destiny knew
YES SHE WAS IN THE FETAL POSITION
FORGETTING ABOUT EVERYTHING EVEN HER SON
NO ONE COULD SNAP HER OUT OF IT NOT EVEN HER MOTHER
I WOULD WONDER WHEN SHE WAS GOING TO
NOTICE HER SON IN THE OTHER ROOM
WHILE SHE’S LYING THERE ON THE HALLWAY FLOOR
CRYING AND SCREAMING OVER A MAN WHO DID NOT WANT HER OR HER
SON?
SHE’S TRYING TO DO ANYTHING TO KEEP THIS MAN
SHE FORGOT ABOUT HER SON WHO WAS WATCHING HER
LAY THERE IN THE FETAL POSITION
YELLING HIS FATHER’S NAME
HE JUST PEEPS IN THE LITTLE BOY’S ROOM AND WALKS BY
AND SAYS TO HIM YOU SEE THIS WEAK TRICK DON’T YOU
SORRY PIECE OF WORK
HE’S FORGETTING THAT THE BABY MIND IS A
SPONGE
SO EVERY TIME HE YELLS OUT OBSCENITIES TO HIS MOTHER HE’S
SOAKING IT ALL UP
SHE HADN’T SHOWERED OR EATEN IN A FEW DAYS
HE JUST THOUGHT OF HER AS NOTHING
THE FETAL POSITION OR THE BABY WASN’T GOING
TO KEEP HIM THERE BECAUSE HE WASN’T THE FATHER
HE DIDN’T UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH THE BABY’S
FACE LIT UP WHEN HE ENTERED THE HOME
THIS IS A MESSAGE TO HER GET UP
SHAKE IT OFF BECAUSE YOU’RE BETTER THAN THAT
LOOK AT WHERE YOU COME FROM A WHOLE ARMY FULL OF BLACK
BEAUTIFUL STRONG WOMEN WHO STUCK IT OUT AND SURVIVED THE BEST
WAY THAT THEY COULD WHEN IT’S OVER IT’S OVER
LIVE FOR YOUR CHILD BECAUSE HE’S WATCHING YOU IN THE FETAL
POSITION
"And Today's Special is Wine and Cheese"
Some wine and cheese
If you would please
Depressed, I cannot express myself for I’m being oppressed and repressed
Yet, I reside in the west, my lines are treated as an unwelcome guest
I’ve ornamented ideas that will go unheard
Reading them will be seen as a vulture transcribed word
“A Stale Birthday Cake,” could be submitted
But a lot of terms are not permitted
If I leave those texts out to describe my rage
It might as well be written in the stone age
Here’s an example, “ , ” substantial white noise is found on this page
“The Penetralia Ruby Queen,” hint, the anatomy
But, is there no shame, outcry, how dare I, the audacity
It conveys about some person with a dancing nymph’s fantasy
But it altercates against the morals of Christianity
Here’s an example, “ , ” undeniably excommunicated for blasphemy
The villainous bark, scream, “Cultures Dark Theme”
It’s something written from a nightmare’s dream
If submitted, it would drive the masses into insanity
Yet, this piece of work prohibits the usage of profanity
Here’s an example, “ , ” silenced because others must be spared of its inhumanity
“The World’s Playground” still waiting to see if it gets banned
Negligent in comprehending the rules beforehand
The lyrics uses a word to describe a person who gets paid
In an ideal world, I could just switch the rhyme to being laid
Here’s an example, “ ,” my apologies for the cross realm alabaster masquerade
Finally, “Unzipped Apple Core,” was written as a rant indeed
Bitten by the fire ant, I was hoping it would supplant a seed
But apparently the flying monkey festival has everyone strapped to a ticking time bomb
Another useless firework display to a bromide poem, so turn the page to end this sitcom
The doctor said, "Take this. It will cure the social disease”
So, for my last supper please, I would like some wine and cheese
Updated 5/14/2019
Animal cruelty is an ongoing and sickening epidemic. I'll never understand how thoughts can
creep into a human being's mind that would make them want to harm a defenseless pet. I
wrote this poem after four teenagers went out of their way to cause pain and torture to a cat
in my hometown. This poem is written from an animal's perspective somewhat.
Defenseless.
Looking into your eyes as he's whipped and you show zero remorse.
Beating him with blunt and traumatic force.
You brutalize innocence with no intention to repent.
Breaking his back as you show a lack of self-respect.
Confused by actions that cannot be forgiven.
My stomach sickens.
How can you live with acts you have committed?
A vulnerable object that had no chance to fight.
Can you justify why you felt the need to end his life?
The hands of a murderer, you show no shame.
Your only means of actions to cause violence and pain.
You looked directly into his somber eyes as you broke his body.
Anger and resentment shown towards an unsophisticate form of life.
The color crimson covered your hands as you tore him apart.
Piece by piece.
Ripping him at the seams as you lessened yourself as a man.
Never will I be able to look into your eyes the same way again.
This is unforgivable, it's not permissable, it's unexplainable.
You are a poison to this earth.
You have fed your wretched soul on the weak and still regret evades your mind.
You corrupt, repulsive piece of work.
You'll run out of luck.
This charade won't last another moment.
You took someting full of life and just turned into a fragment.
What runs through your brain?
What fills your heart?
How do you look your eyes into the mirror so unscathed?
How can you live with so much hate?
You ended a life without an ounce of morality holding you back!
You tortured your victim, forcing your hands on him until he cracked.
Lifelessness.
No signs of torment or guilt filling your eyes.
Your time will run out.
The hourglass spilling just like the blood of your victim.
Eternal condemnation awaits.
You will lose this game.
Tolerance of your actions is something no human will embrace.