Meet Bob:
Bob just lost his job!
Toiled twenty years.
Poor pitiful slob.
Meet Neal:
He cut a better deal!
Foiled his pension,
When he ratted out Bob.
Back to Bob:
Heard about Neal!
Heard about the deal,
Neal got robbed by Bob.
Neal shot Bob!
Bob bled on Neal!
Aah, who cares?
Anybody got time for Neal and Bob?
in the sixties they teased our hair
with a comb, they put rats in it
making it higher and higher
it could never be high enough or fluffy enough
Combing it out was a nightmare
because after they ratted it they sprayed it
with enough hair spray to choke six elephants
the good old days!
Every day they call me,
The battered, the shattered
And the sat upon
The smothered, overly mothered
And the sat upon
The neglected, rejected
The undetected undirected
And the shat upon
The tattered, scattered ratted on.
Every day I hear them call out,
As they weep or shout or bawl out
Their tales of, “Wo! I’ve had enough!
Let the poisons do their stuff.”
Every day I take the call
Listening for something small
Some flotsam in the swollen river
That might allow me to deliver
A faint glimmer of some hope,
Turn the noose into a rope
To pull them to the shore.
But every day when the calls have ended
And the hands of help, extended,
Are inevitably pulled away,
I am mostly left uncertain
As to whether the final curtain
Has been stayed for another day.
Until at last, worn out,
My own heart torn out
And my own fears borne out
I call out my tale of, “Wo! I’ve heard enough”
© Barry Freeman - 10th May 2021
I just received a letter of warning
From the people of PETA no doubt
Informing me they've seen what I do for meals
I think the chicken must have ratted me out
Well you can rest easy cause I can assure you
The poultry in question felt no harm
And the chicken also was taken
From a free range organic natural farm
The letter held all the usual jargon
About lawyers and lawsuits and such
It's not like the chicken was wasted
After all was said and done I had her over for lunch
So let me tell all you people at PETA
Don't get your panties all up in a wad
Right after the egg for breakfast she laid, I supplied the Preparation H
Then carried her gently to the chopping block
My brain feels scattered, ratted with knots.
Too many cross-talks, can't focus on thoughts.
So I'll put it away, away in this box.
And I'll strap it in with a chain and some locks.
Maybe then the rocks in my socks will get lost.
Really I'm doing it, I'm hiding away.
No matter the cost, it's worth it to stay
Inside of this box, I won't be missed anyway.
Finally maybe, I could make the voice stop.
If I just lock my brain, away in this box.
11/5
that which cannot be traced
which cannot be found
which cannot be leaked
which cannot be jailed or
beaten in the streets
that which cannot be located
by the newest technology on the
market
that which cannot be ratted on by
its members
that which only blossoms in
membership spontaneously, without
planning
that which is impulsive
that which is secure in the acts
walloping down upon the
controlling, dominant, totalitarian forces
that be
that which spits in the face of convention,
tradition, organization & the general
herding of the sheep
that which lives to breathe freedom
that which will take no prisoners
that which laughs maniacally in the silence of
uncalled for fears & fictitious lies
that which will break down the current
establishments
that which will burn the idols in effigy
that which will continue despite all attempts to
destroy it
that which infests the system like the strongest cancer
strangling from within
that which flows like a river of blood inside the body of
those whose anger never ceases
that which desires every tyrant to be hung in the
courtyard
that which cannot be bought or sold
that which will win.
The world is spinning
and you refuse to fall off.
Yesterday,
you stabbed a crooked finger
into my hidden diary
criticized my Fascist inflections -
debated my scribblings
on Marxism,
noted the notations
indicating Munchausen by Proxy
and then
choked and lamented
upon vague references I made
concerning Virginia Woolf,
Sylvia Plath,
Anne Sexton,
Cruella De Vil
and Hitler.
You literally littered through
my private Pandora’s box
of personal prose and poetry -
with an unbridled
crazed compulsion
and without my
permissible permission.
Pointing to bold typed words,
such as “ebony”
and “vacuous”
and “sociopath”
and the one
you couldn’t evenly pronounce –
“phlegmatic.”
You stomped your hot heavy hooves -
screaming with the dire urgency
of a rape victim:
“What the hell are you talking about?”
It didn’t take very long before
I simply shrugged,
slugged the remaining remains
of my Rolling Rock,
took your index finger
guided it across
your ratted sweater
and placed it
upon your
hopeless,
hapless
heart.
The winter days drag and drag
the frown on my face increasingly sags
turning me into a haggard old hag
my husband continues to nag and nag
he's tired of living in ratted old rags
time is frozen and forever lags
this season is one big snag after snag
by: Virginia Frayer
Betrayal is a subject I know to well
A one-way ticket to a place called hell
Whatever the case when trust is lost
A piece of your soul will be the cost
Be it by a lover or a dear friend
Regardless it will lead to the end
Something as special as it can be
Tossed to the side for pure misery
Built on treachery and based on a lie
No doubt all of the blue has left the sky
As the sky turns dark and sheds its tears
Shame and guilt fill the guilty with fear
My friend turned me in; ratted me out
I was found guilty without any doubt
What happened soon as I hit the pen?
My girlfriend up let him move on in
Full of hate and driving on the yard
Hands of fate played a beautiful card
He got busted one very beautiful day
Right to my yard they sent him away
Scared to death and shaking like a leaf
He walked on the yard to my disbelief
I was due to parole the very next day
Yet off the SHU they shipped me away
One of those things you just can’t let go
Regardless of the price and cost to the soul
You know sometimes choices can be real hard
When you’re a junkie walking the prison yard
Written for the Betrayal contest