Best Supervision Poems
The fear
In here ..
The chair
"Don't care "..
Sore gum
Lip numb..
" MUST DRILL
THEN FILL " ..
" Less speed
I'll bleed " ..
Preserve
Your nerve ..
"I've bled"
Jaw dead ..
" RINSE PLEASE"
Weak knees ..
The bill
Plus pill ..
Can't eat
No teeth ..
Unchewed
Soft food ..
Can't talk
Slow walk
Perchance
Soiled pants ?..
Mistake
Toothache !!.....
footle-note ..
The author would like to confirm that no deaths occured , during the creation of this piece. All
suffering was kept to a minimum,as the surgery was sound-proofed .Pain and suffering ,
caused to waiting patients , was due to being forced to read 3yr old mags. Seemingly the
news was less dire back then.All enamel&blood stained swabs were dumped in the
appropriate utensils,as per Geneva Convention(section ix, site xxxiv).The cleansing of soiled
underwear took place ,under supervision, with enviroment friendly detrgents & all offending
materials disposed of , in accordance with the KyotoAgreement(section mlx11).
Must dash !! , as I have to visit that other sadist, the vet ,with our cat.He is due for the snips!
( the cat , not the vet ).. Here Tom..Pshhhwshhh ..
I landed in Poet's Court
Caught me speeding in my Sonnet
They judged it a rhyme crime
According to the officer's pentometer
I was doing 50 in a 25 word zone
I'm pleading for comma relief
Hoping to be released to free verse
Under supervision of course
Fortunately there's no sentencing in poetry
Maybe they'll just revoke my poetic license
Maybe it’s unacceptable
Live a life capable of a true fable
True friends never end
But take you back to where it all began
But hey misery gave us something to believe in
Stress became a greater award as we achieved sin
What could I say? Our savior died on a cross tough as pig skin
Never once cried over the loss
Forbidden fruit, Eden garden
Excuse me, my lord, I beg your pardon
And so what if these medics carry life in a carton
But I ain’t trippin
Simply because this is me until my dying day
Please stop crying, you know I can’t stay
I’m going to be the same until my dying day
Over in that casket is where I’m trying to lay
That’s right until my dying day
True lost souls from the dark side
Forever, we as mortals ride
Peace is nothing, I fend for quiet time
Rebels in riot lines
Previous high school graduates
Symbols of an adjective running toward fate
True personality suffer the privilege of inmates
How could you hesitate to ask
There’s no stranger under this mask
Lonely and unholy, who’s there to console me?
I want to get away, forever restless
You can see my similarities with the ocean
I’m stress less
Because this is me until my dying day
Please stop crying, you know I can’t stay
I’m going to be the same until my dying day
Over in that casket is where I’m trying to lay
My son, my friend
We are but pieces of eternity
Mesh on, mesh off
Even at our best times we’re soft
Who’s to say I’d regret my decision
To lead a sinners life without God’s supervision
On a one man mission
And I know I don’t come around much
Got my palms in reality
Searching for something softer to touch
Whisper in my ear, death makes me blush
And Hell only flatters me
One and one, through matter the winds scatter me
I ain’t trippin, baby girl get off your knees
You’re in the arms of a future me
And I can’t see heaven from a distance
Fire me over clouds like a piston
Marching through blood
But it’s all mud and water to Darkhouse
Stand still let me mark my spouse
Live my life as an outcast
How could you even picture me at my last?
Dear lord show some mercy on my followers
Bless those that swallow dust to follow us
No need to borrow sympathy
Unforgiving sorrow made my enemies envy me
Her Mother says I'm not that bright
in need of supervision.
A wayward male who would likely fail
to make a good decision.
So I've lost my friends... they've disappeared,
my wife gave them the boot.
To up our standing and improve our branding
with people of high repute.
My diet's better so I'm eating greens,
no beer or fatty foods.
But I tell you plain, I try in vain
but I'm in a foul mood.
I dream of things I cannot have
like burgers doused in sauce.
A chicken wing and some onion rings,
all hidden from the Boss.
But her senses keen as she's rarely tricked
when I try to cheat.
She sets me straight then sets my plate
and tells me what to eat.
Our viewing habits are oft discussed
and we are of one accord.
No tennis courts or winter sports
and no watching zombie hordes.
My gaming suffers as she disapproves
so my Xbox gathers dust.
Though when out of sight, I still sneak at night
to satisfy my lust.
When I talk to her... she twists my words
to points of her own choosing.
A terse reply, she then starts to cry
which makes it more confusing.
What keeps me here? I love my wife,
would never find another.
So I will obey and I'm here to stay
just to piss off her dear Mother.
The End
^Follow my cartoon at Webtoon Bob's Your Uncle.
CAR COURT
Enter, the older heavyweight steel giant,
The bailiff, a 1954 Hudson, reads unhesitant :
On the docket for this morning : guilty by implication - a Trabant,
In close custody with a Cutlass Supreme for supervision.
Next on the docket: a Pinto for likely gas-tank explosion.
Third on the docket: an English-made car (any marque) - body corrosion.
Lawyer for the prosecution, a pretentious character, a gas guzzler SUV
4x4 off-road with winch - for Saturday use on driveway only -
Hangs out with Vettes; and uses NO2 in fuel. Who?Drugs? Not me!
Downbeat guy as the defence counsel , a solid no nonsense Hummer,
A real enviro-bummer,
Klutzy ugly and personality like a mack truck in summer.
Trabant coughed its way to the stand.
Clerk of court Volkswagen, order in hand,
Read the indictment quietly, efficiently, bland.
Prosecution began with noisy opening musical-horn tunelets
The jury, all serious-minded stolid Volvos and Toyota Starlets
Were not impressed. Hummer clumsily interrupted with an objection, “Let’s
Stop, on the grounds of precedent,” but at this point Pinto reversed,
Crushed its trunk and its gas-tank exploded, and worst ,
Hit the the English car : and into flames they both burst.
Cutlass argued with the SUV, which was winched away pending sentence.
Case against the English car dismissed from lack of evidence.
Trabant was deported back to Germany: no import licence
Overseeing all these proceedings : the ever-reliable, I-won’t-budge,
The I-have-a-spotless-reputation, I-hold-no-grudge,
The mechanical virgin, the silent Rolls Royce as judge.
...........................................................................................................
Many fall in love without
presence of mind.
They repeat the mod cliché
that love is blind...
But sensible matchmaking
chooses more feasible soulmates.
Kids need adult supervision
in the matter of dates.
Love is a very special emotion
that causes much commotion
in the heart and soul,
where it has a big role.
Love's possible anytime, anywhere,
and many are caught by it unawares.
But don't let love be just a stupor
from which you wake up in horror.
Don't let love be a one night stand drink
from which you get a hangover.
Committed Love shouldn't be a fad or spell
from which you just get over...
When young minds play their own cupid
To many that has brought heartache and sorrow.
Underage kids dating is even more stupid
They usually regret on the morrow.
Reason doesn't work in a fit of passion.
So its best to love with
your mind and consultation.
Having love affairs without deliberation
is harmful fashion.
Head over heels
without discussion,
with well-wishers
may cause concussion
headache
of so-called lovers...
Use your head before your heart
Not every spark
should start a fire....
they say
children can’t be psychopaths—
as if innocence were a law
instead of a rumor.
as if the soul comes standard
with warning labels
and a conscience
pre-installed.
but some of them speak
like accountants of pain,
measuring tone,
studying delay,
watching faces collapse
for data.
they don’t rage.
they don’t cry.
they note.
they ask questions
that sound harmless
until later
when you realize
they already knew the answer
and wanted to see
how you’d lie.
no voice saying stop.
or maybe the voice is there
and they’ve learned
to mute it
like a bad radio station.
they hurt things
not for pleasure,
not even for curiosity,
but to see
if the world flinches
or stays quiet.
sometimes it stays quiet.
sometimes that teaches them
everything.
are they born this way?
or did something leave early—
a hand that didn’t reach,
a word that never came,
a look that should have said
you matter
and didn’t?
we love clean answers.
they don’t exist here.
hope?
maybe hope is just
intervention with good timing.
maybe it’s medication.
maybe it’s distance.
maybe it’s supervision
that never sleeps.
or maybe hope is a story
we tell ourselves
so we can keep eating dinner
while the future sharpens itself
down the hall.
some kids grow out of it.
some grow into it.
some never choose—
they just continue
like weather.
you want a verdict.
I don’t have one.
I’ve seen monsters
with birth certificates.
I’ve seen saints
raised in hell.
and I’ve seen silence
do most of the damage
while everyone waited
for proof.
Oh… how I miss that time! With it’s Saturday morning cartoons.
Not to mention, daily comics stolen from Papa’s newspaper, too!
Saturday was way better! With Snoopie, Little Abner, and friends.
Now I can’t find a newspaper! Or any more of those ‘News Stands’!
It would have been wonderful, to bring Dragon to ‘Show and Tell’!
To go outside to play with my friends, instead of texting from cells!
Play ‘Hide and Seek’ together, instead of computer games, I think!
Always walking with friends, not separately, driven everywhere…
But life goes on, they do say. Sigh! As we’ve lost those golden rules.
Drugs were rumored somewhere else, now at our children’s school.
We used to play at a neighbors house, now, they’re all out at the Mall.
Why can’t we just have fun, and with safe neighborhoods, all around?
Where are all the children, and beloved stay at home, kind of Moms?
Instead the children are in daycares, forgetting they even have a Mom.
They’re gaining a group mentality, and bullying is far, out of control.
Where is all the supervision? Will the children ever, be the same again?
I miss my Mom’s good cooking, with only occasional fast food stuff.
Where are GP rated TV shows: they’re all now, filled with violent crime.
We used to love the babysitter, now it’s TV’s with hundreds of channels.
But best of all, we talked and talked, not texted, all day into a cell phone!
If I could give one thing to my child, one day in the past, would be my gift.
But he might not even understand, what I’m trying to give to him… at all.
I expect he’d be bored, and find the first opportunity to try to get away.
He’d, laugh at ever going back there, again! … I could cry! … Heavy, Sigh!
To the powers that be.
I've allowed you to view
my weakness like an
opportunity. Give school
children fatherless
babies, and preach their
nudity to the
congregation. Pagan
prostitute purchasing
pastor preaches to a
godless nation. Commit
adultery upon the body
of Christ and a ct
sinless. Thou shalt not
eat of the fruit of good
knowledge, lest thou be
skinless. Take a wrong
turn like Brenda and get
hit by a bullet train. Of
alcohol abuse, drug
addiction, and mental
strain. We don't live
under the same sun.
When you were
wealthy, my poverty
had already begun. You
got to university, I died
from hunger in Somalia.
Because of my skin, I've
become victim to
sickness, AIDS and
malaria. My protests
end in bloodshed
because of gunshots. If
we hungered not to
perish, we'd do nothing
to fill those empty pots.
String my wings with
the chords of your
swollen affection. Allow
your Jacobs to rule the
nation, they're the
masters of perfection.
Your nation of rapist
gay men has narrowed
the country's vision. You
sodomize my sisters in
your office,under cop
supervision. You molest
my brothers and torture
a nation. Kill my spirit
entirely, and resurrect
an evil nation.
Supervision is an answer:
Yes, I know one superdancer,
But it is also the limit:
He and she are 2 unlimited,
And they dance very good too,
We can see - not only imagine,
It is truth -
Not a legend, don't confuse,
Please, show us again the holiday for eye,
Because it seems to me
That I have also the only one naive
In which I am always in fever,
Another I keep in the bank of MTV:
They always promise not to do more
Than we are ready to sing, dance
And to live! No war!
With big peace in this romance,
It's a main reason:
I am the supervisor
Of my car, house, office, business
And sometimes an executor on the kitchen
Where my wife is a super manager of all
Cocktails and super tutor
Of me good
And cute!
Watching Homer struggle
to explain how a god wounded by a mortal
cannot die but may hereafter live with minor pain
and the humor when that god
complains to Jove that His supervision of His daughter
is inadequate and His Love too unconditional
while Diomed (or Tydides)
wreaks havoc on the Trojans and Hector
gives it back (in kind)
anatomically correct descriptions
of spears piercing jawbones (and groins)
sons without fathers hunting and fishing thereafter
alone. Written
amazingly presciently!
as a metaphor for Vietnam (our war)
forgotten consensually
as this generation slips lazily away
to Hades (or kayaks to the huckleberries)
where the lights are always blue, gentian actually,
supper's served at 4 and former adversaries
pass the heavy hanging time playing pinochle (and pool).
We're selling the house to pay the taxes.
Pallas Athena wars among the men
from the axle of her chariot
and Venus is injured by Diomed,
standing in the field of battle where she never should have been,
in her adorable hand.
What has this to do with Solomon in jail.
Not the Jewish king, a black American male,
same thing.
Your children can be failed at school and marched to war.
You can be taxed and sent to gaol for the honor of it.
anyone lived in a pretty how town.
We have no obligation
to perform the Iliad or read poems and even Homer
considers Achilles effete (compared to Hector)
and Odysseus is wrong even when he's right.
Therefore, modern man explores
the mathematics of circles in coordinate planes and their tangents
when (sooner or later)
the secret of warp speed is discovered
expansion of the species will be limitless and permanent.
Not criminally responsible
In a few seconds it was over, Tim never had a chance.
He was killed, decapitated actually. The police arrested the killer
with Tim's head in hand. The trial judge ordered a psychiatric exam,
and it was determined that he (the killer) was schizophrenic,
and at the time of the killing was experiencing a psychotic episode.
The judge declared him to be NCR (Not criminally responsible)
and ordered him to go to a medical facility for treatment for an
undetermined time. After a few years, it was observed that the killer understood that he needed his medication to be able to live without
being a danger to himself or to society in general. After eight years
the killer was released back into the general population, under minimum supervision. Tim's mother was distraught at the news, and was rendered speechless. Was justice served?
December 19,2018
:)
What kids are watching on telly
are crimes and crimes in all variety!
Crimes of hate
crimes of passion
acting it out at shocking rate
thinking in some wild fashion
then ending up cell mates!
When kids watch their movie heroes
shoot down people with the gun
they are incited to do the same
to achieve some thrill and fun.
When they see their very film star
slash someone's throat in a fit of anger
they think well of crimes of rage
and plunge everybody else into danger.
The tendency to portray the violent scene
luridly and shockingly on the Big Screen
Ah even for the small screen, tis the gory
that makes for the dark and thrilling story.
Now that technology's long opened this pandora's box
the dispersal of amplified social ills ain't no hoax
The rowdy hoodlums and reckless gangsters
are simply by-products of Tv influences
The world watches the thriving of the bully-boy pranksters
passively in helpless terror of their offences.
It's all portrayal of the vulgar, the obscene
by that devious Silver Screen
And the horror movie
though it may seem groovy
begets the horrendous
and drills evil thoughts subliminally
into the subconscious!
It's an unrestrained dark faking
of real life reality exaggerating
Whether it's Bollywood in the East
or it's Hollywood in the West
they don't merely impart tactics of defence
but rather those of aggressive offence
Viewing those gruesome swashbuckling films
gives rise to morbid sadistic whims
Flipping through the TV channels
just ponder if the telly's the perfect channel
of information is it a proper panel?
Dad always tells me, 'fear ye the roaches' flicking antennae?
While you oughtta fear the influence
of 'em' flickering images by dish antennae'.
Then a mere single merit that I dug
as I drank cappucino in my mug
that atleast one couldn't live in a bubble
daily watching the bubblebug.
Ah but then tougher gun laws couldn't halt
even underage shooting sprees
Rather it's stringent scanning of Tv content
that might make it all cease
Parental supervision too tis gravely essential
Should've been of parental code quintessential
So the next time you catch your teen
absorbed and engrossed while glued to the screen
Just sleuth a bit just to make sure
that for the x-rated he's not too keen!
My future happiness depended upon school,
They’re understanding of religious older parents,
Them constraining them with supervision,
So that I could have autonomy in my garments.
I mean, my parents let me wear what I liked,
But were unspeakably forceful poignantly,
Regarding who was going to dress and shower me:
Women, not men who could interact with me perfectly.
I wasn’t asking for all male carers,
Just one or two out of maybe five,
And I even offered to employ male nurses,
Rather than just anybody alive.
But my mum was disgusted at my suggestion,
Said it turned her stomach and made her ill,
Posited that I was not in my right mind,
Said that I made her queasy and gave her a chill.
The school’s social services seemed traditional,
Just like their toilet facilities, old and outdated;
The social worker had white, permed curly hair,
And so for parent disputes you could be slated.
So I never got the help I required and needed,
For my first care package at Glasgow University,
So I suffered from rejection, shortness and selfishness,
From my carers who were supposed to offer identity.
The wardens made it better for me every day,
Reprimanded them for disrespect and impoliteness,
But I never even imagined that voluntary carers,
Could suffice for my own future astuteness.
It upset my whole life, the schools neglect and indifference,
When I think that living success could have been sorted out,
My personal dignity and freedom could have been secured,
With a bit of determination and secular, atheistic liberal clout.
School is really just about your future,
It claims it by its very definition,
And the whole child should be taken and loved,
Not just his or her abilities with cognition.
DESTROYER vs' GARETH # 3
You hit me a bit on the 3rd round
I'm not easy to knock on the ground
Literarily I'm still on my feet
In poetry, there are no side effects
Still your words have no sound
I came out of nowhere, like a threat
Your mind blew a cold sweat
Like a cigarette, I smoked you:-(
I made you sit on your poo
You don't have what it takes for Russian Roulette:-(
I put your file in a shame book
Stuck you in a cell hole, like a crook
My identity I give it a twirl
My only pearls found in a Play Girl
Between my legs, take one last look:-)
Gareth, permission to call a lawyer
Surrender your pen, to the destroyer
Apparently this you did not enjoy
Sentence of community service, WATERBOY!!
Under the supervision, "I am your new employer."
You had your head start
You miss like a blind dart
Now you called the last stop
Unfortunate I'm on top
Vultures devouring sweet flesh,
spit your words out like a fart.
On your second round, cutting you slack.
Are you done with the Anxiety attack:-(
A fountain pen, paper, packed by your Mother.
She threw them out by the gutter.
Mr James, time is up, hit the road, Jack.
The POETRY DESTROYER,
just struck back.
NOTE: (-: fun.:-)