Chronically disabled, can't shut the **** up,
'Cause the internet raised me on two girls and one cup.
Spit this shi* out my ass**** while you lap and you suck,
As you kneel for the Man 'cause you can't wait to get cucked.
There's a sickness in this country like the dick at the top,
But if you wave it in the People's face it's bound to get lopped.
Then you'll know how it feels to be a boy that's a girl,
While your neighbors all disdain you for the flag you unfurl.
"Heil" to the world, controversy is fun-
Now they keep your ***** ass "safe" at the sound of a gun.
astoundingly precise
astonishingly perplexed
chronically infatuated
passively cynical
wholeheartedly joyous
internally melancholy
two souls in one body—
simultaneously existing
Cognitive decline
follows chronic emotional neglect
Said the curious student
to teachers of dogma
Said the silenced sage
to muted musicians
Said the silenced voice
to the petrified dancer
Said the theologian
to exhausted bodhisattvas
Said the frustrated ecologist
to traumatized wiccan worshippers
Said the gospel sympathizer
to Old Testament victimizers
Said the scientific systems reformer
to irreligious deformers
Said the green-caste revivalist
to the caste abolishionist
Crown chakra abuse
follows root chakra neglect
because
Root chakra ignore
follows Crown chakra adore
Because my cognitive ethos decline
follows our chronically traumatized
eros neglect
As my disillusion
follows Earth's disempowerment
Re-cognizing humane ethotic decline
follows chronic divine erotic neglect
Not empowering transformation
not enlightening communication's
authentically engaging restoration
Intellectually sagacious incline
following polyamorously amusing
compassion.
There's blood on my fresh roast coffee
blood on the sunny Sunday bell
blood on my tricycle wheels
across my blue-sky dreams
those devilish chem trails.
There's blood on John Lennon sheets
They're poisoning birds and honeybees.
They call us cattle, treat us like sheep.
Their arrogance blocks out our sun.
Sweaty jails swinging wide open for us.
Closed tight for the morally bankrupt.
They are mimicking Saturn's passion.
Munching away the faith of innocence.
Blood-blood-blood flowing everywhere.
It's all of them and always has been.
Demons drink without a care.
My blood pressure kisses the north side of high.
Patience hangs from the south side of down.
I used to traipse the woods to temper the grind.
Now I stay deep inside a cockroach house
a permanent bending of the mind.
Their egos are greasy and fatally stained.
Their arrogance-an incurable disease.
But what they don't understand is
that there's no escaping the crumbling castle
of the chronically damned.
God carved fate into the eternal face of time.
He will gild and elevate the little ones...
A resurrection of a blue-sky lullaby.
Your smiles frozen over,
and you stand tall above the water
like an iceberg, so tall and elegant
in your presentation.
But surface-level trickery
can’t fool or satiate
my scuba diver
curiosity.
I see through your
poorly constructed ruse.
I prep my gear,
dive deep into your ocean,
and discover that underneath
the surface-level beauty lies dormant
a bummock of cuts and bruises.
The true nature of things,
the true nature of you.
A life packed full of solutionless problems,
scribbled out like math equations
written on a chalkboard
by a genius mathematician
who can’t ever prove his theories
or get anything to work.
Nobody understands him
because he can’t even understand
the things going on
in his own head.
Now,
enough of the comparisons.
Let’s get back to the subject.
You’re chronically ill.
Your condition is worsening.
You present yourself in a positive light
while, under the surface, you're
withering.
I worry for the day
when all of your problems
become too much
for you to bear,
and you slip away
like an avalanche
in the Arctic,
never to be
seen again.
Trying to spring clean
And muscle spasms are a thing
So I’m forced to take pain pill
And now I’m sleepy lost my will
So gonna take a Power Nap
Then give dust bunnies a zap
It sucks being chronically ill
Yet poetry gives me a thrill still
Noah commissioned a wee dove as his ocean scout.
It ventured out three times seeking sprigs of life.
On the third try, it brought back hope to all mankind.
I would have chosen an albatross for the task.
It's more suited for gliding over open ocean.
With its keen, salty eyes and great wingspan.
It could have done the deed in half the time.
Perhaps the dove was more efficient and intelligent.
Maybe the albatross lacked focus and discipline.
Been tempted by the sirens of fog and froth.
Did it feel disrespected for not being commissioned?
Chronically depressed, deep in the ribs of Noah's Genesis ship.
Closer that dreaded angel comes,
Nearer my God, to Me.
Family fallen, too near the edge.
I walk in doom for tomorrow.
In crazy and cowardly remote concerns,
You death draw a lottery place in line.
Gamble me this, pitiful reaper,
Are you even real?
Within two feet now,
A rattling within my rib cage staggers,
But my brother drank his death,
And my new mother's mind just withered.
Chronically brain is wet and warped,
But I was born into your game.
Allergic to kindness and good works alike,
Death circles my brain, my drain in perpetuum.
Your manufactured trap of vomit and cane,
And sugar plum dreams of gutters and glee,
I dodge you again, but for luck or for timing,
Life leaves daily, per moment of fear.
Closer that dreaded angel comes,
Nearer my God, to Me.
Family fallen, too near the edge.
I walk in doom for tomorrow.
In crazy and cowardly remote concerns,
You, death, draw a lottery place in line.
Gamble me this, pitiful reaper,
Are you even real?
Within two feet now,
A rattling within my rib cage staggers,
But my brother drank his death,
And my new mother's mind just withered.
Chronically brain is wet and warped,
But I was born into your game.
Allergic to kindness and good works alike,
Death circles my brain, my drain in perpetuum.
Your manufactured trap of vomit and cane,
And sugar plum dreams of gutters and glee,
I dodge you again, but for luck or for timing,
Life leaves daily, per moment of fear.
I parked my car on the corner of Jim, and
am sitting here patiently waiting for him..
For thirty-seven years I was his wife.
Some things never change in this life.
I'm generally early.
He's chronically late, so I play the game
of hurry up and wait..
I parked my car on the corner of Jim, sit
patiently waiting, again and again...
My accountant said I'm officially poor,
so I headed out to the grocery store.
Food now costing so much more.
Preparing tuna casseroles, eating spaghetti
striving to keep track of every penny,
is making me anxious, my palms now sweaty..
Gas prices may have stabilized but every thing
else continues to rise, even every day household supplies..
Merchants smile at you so you think their the nicest
and claim that it's all post pandemic prices or that limited
supplies have caused this food crisis..
I've said no to Lancome and designer jeans as I struggle
to stay with in limited means. My bank account chronically
seems to be lean..
It's not much fun being poor, especially if one's known
money before. I'm starting to ask what else is in store?
Let freedom ring from sea to sea but America is no longer free.
I'll keep on working at 73.
Hatred is a sort of colonisation
It governs the heart
Like colonisation governs a colony
Where freedom is restricted
Love exhausted
Hegemony impudent
And the mind becomes a slave
Chronically angry and frustrated
And so a spiritual release is needed
Maybe through a religion
Or a blessing from God
With each breath, I take
With each heartbeat, I feel
With each thing, I see
With each sound, I hear
With each flower, I scent
With each being, I touch
With each fruit, I taste
With each step, I walk
With each moment, I live
I Thee glorify, my Lord, for all Thou blessings,
The blessings, that so many of my fellow men:
The deaf
The Mute
The blind
The chronically ill
The invalid
The incapacitated, and
The Paralyzed,
Never had the chance to enjoy them!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
15 July 2022
To the left of my apartment a baby is chronically crying.
To the right of my apartment a couple is arguing,
and above my apartment parents are disciplining their children.
Most living in such an environment might find this noise pollution annoying,
but I on the other hand find it quite entertaining.
Despite all of the continual audio chaos that surrounds me,
I find myself smiling and grateful for my life of solitary,
while silently thinking as I smirk, "Sure glad that's not me."
Dear Tenure for Teachers,
You need to abolish yourself.
Be honorable and do the right thing.
Overdose on morphine or jump off a cliff into a den of wild wolves.
The good teachers do not need you.
You are around to help the ones who need to leave the profession.
You have saturated our profession with unprofessionalism.
In any other business, the ones who are inept, lazy, and chronically late are dismissed.
Fired, sent home, given a pink slip.
You have ruined our profession, made us a laughing stock.
Please take your leave, vamoose, disappear.
Do the right thing. Be honorable for the first time ever.
Signed, a Teacher who Cannot Imagine
Why we Developed Tenure in the First Place
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