A simple man who came to be
had a place, home, but no talent,
bought some seeds, clueless—what succeeds?
Least known was spread them on the land,
After, he lived his life daily,
each day, looking out his window,
till he saw a seed sprout aptly.
Turned into a stalk, starts to grow,
free to the sunlight and the rain.
First, the blades, the ears, then the corn.
At which time, he got out his cane,
cut the stalk; its ear, he had torn.
At the market, corn went on sale,
home he ate—his life was no tale.
Such is God's kingdom, and the powers that be.
Talentless, therefore, a clueless simple man, was he.
The seed, land, sun, rain, sprout, stalk, blade, ear, and corn; the powers that had been.
'Ere the corn at the market, knows he, it's due time for the corn, set the powers that made him.
I was a happy child
Carefree, talentless, happy
Jumping around and singing tunes
Tunes of bygone joy and unbridled dream
But they scorned me
They mocked the child I was within
They tried to make me like them
Children whose child within was slain
But I persisted
By God I persisted.
I refused to sing only their tune
Refusing the cocoon of their songs
But the scolding were gone and the whips came
With each Whack, a memory flies away
Heavy groaning and bitter tears litter the courtyard
Croaked voice and battered mouth
As each day passes, the singing becomes lower
Till I started humming their tune
Then I stopped altogether
Leaving only the silence as my precious dinner.
If only I could be a savant.
I could create crowds whenever I want.
But talent only strikes the lucky ones.
For me, I am stumbling in front of everyone.
If I were a savant, maybe my parents would be proud.
And I would reach acceptance, I would shout it out loud!
All I am is the passion I share.
And all my worth is connected to the things people care.
This pain I have learned is from the milestones that never came.
So I carry this burden of talentless shame.
Everybody's fool
Court Jester
Yellow bird inside a cuckoo clock
Odd sock with a hole in it
Jack outside the box
Talentless Miss fox
Blind rabbit
Thick yet clever
Unintentionally pretty
Strange sarcastic
Fake plastic
Tutt , Tutt
Feline , mutt
Atomic blonde
Hedge fund
Silver spoon
Full moon
Liar , Liar
All of life's desires and fire's
are bound to die and pitter out
If they are neither poked
or stocked
Talent can no more be bought
Than can be taught
As talent is a force of nature
Wasted on the talentless
If you see me like a workless,
Don't define me as a talentless.
You don't know my suffering,
Trying to hide my pain with happiness,
Doesn't define i'm trying less.
You don't know the pressure I hold,
Behind every smile like a bold.
I dare to take a new step for rising,
Again, outcome made me trying.
Your little support gives me strength,
Like an umbrella hold the rains.
You don't know how it feels from inside,
Being rejected and criticized every time.
I'm sure I'll rise again,
Your perception doesn't change my mind,
I know I'll go with some new plan,
Hoping tomorrow will rise again.
Sunglasses shield my eyes so I don’t have to look directly at the sun
Which is the most beautiful thing
All I want to see is beauty but I put a barrier in between
My room shields my body from the sun
It gives you cancer anyway
But when I am inside, it feels smaller and hotter than ever
And I feel more confused and scared than ever
Why do I feel this when all I should feel is excitement and gratefulness?
I should be out in the sun
Yet here I am
Again
Feeling talentless, feeling pathetic, feeling sick
What makes me happy? I don’t know
All I know is I want to feel the way I used to about people
I want to feel love and excitement for them
I want to get butterflies and look at someone like they are unobtainable but I haven’t for years
I want things to just fall into place and make sense
They seem to for everyone else
In my mind happiness looks like me dancing around a giant open room with a reggae band playing
I’d just spin around in circles with my friends
and no one else is there and no one else is watching me or judging me
I don't even dance
I guess that’s why people live inside their own head.
Politics; is the pursuit of power by the talentless,
To the detriment of the dispossessed majority,
By pandering to the greed of the controlling minority.
5/2/16
Negative or Positive
Pessimist or optimist
Solo or cooperative
Experts or novices
Differences or correspondences
Ineptitude or competence
Gases, solids and liquids
Dim and vivid
Happy and livid
Bold and timid
Just and wicked
Soft and rigid
Burning and frigid
Yourself and assisted
Healthy and sickened
Talentless and gifted
Clean and addicted
Boundless and restricted
Straight and twisted
Deprived and privileged
Noisy and silent
Riot and quiet
Tiny and giant
Peaceful and violent
The talentless, envious, plagiarist’s dream
Was to find someone’s ‘Works’ on a shelf or a beam
In a Pub, in a folder, alone and ignored
As the author lay slumped and as drunk as a lord
Stealthily taking those coveted sheets
He rushes off home via dimly lit streets
When his doors were all locked and the curtains drawn tight
He copied his windfall well into the night
First thing next day, not long after he’d phoned
He went to his agent with the stuff that he’d cloned
Dreaming of royalties and acclaim by his peers
But for him it was destined to end up in tears
There’s some gentlemen waiting for him in the hall
(His agent had asked two policemen to call)
“These poems aren’t yours, they’ve already been done
By that drunk in the pub, who is also my Son!”
So, if you aspire to a literary style
You should write your own poems or books but meanwhile
Twixt penning a story, blank verse or a rhyme
Keep your hands off my stuff or be Shamed for your Crime!
USELESS RECIPROCITY
POISONOUS INSECURITY
¿
YOU KILL ME
DAY IN AND OUT
AND BLAME ME
FILL MY HEAD WITH DOUBTS
¿
SUCUBUS LOVER
I SEE THE TRUTH
¿
LEAVE ME ALONE
PSYCHIC VAMPIRE
YOUR PLAYING ME NO MORE
¿
ALL HOLLOW TO DISCOVER
WHATS MINE CANNOT BE YOURS
LEECH OF TRUE PASSION
¿
LEECH'S YOU ARE
A TALENTLESS WHORE.
¿
LEAVE ME ALONE
PHYCHIC VAMPIRE
YOUR PLAYING ME NO MORE.
~END~
Explanation:
Salute to thy Sucubus
Drama invoked karma strangulating serenity. Singularity of unsurprised reason, such a wasted manufacturer to tinker and tether the nature of our society. In your world of opulent polished weaponry and wheel spinning rubber, you exchange the price of moral greed with perishing hunger souls. Controversy tears the false accusations of loyal ring holders. In a love incarnate by steel cut diamonds. Seductive smiles reeling your heart pouring emotions to beg.
Fraudulent capricious deities, you know not the meaning of love. Your fad invoked pleasure induced from this syndrome. Talentless loser of loss are the ill fainted manners of you and I. There is a meaning behind all of these words. Can minds decipher the subliminal coding. Or are such minds to incompetent to comprehend. Your eyes hold all the secrets. You handed me the key, to unlock your casing of personal beauty. Locks altered the façade of who once was.
In a dimmer light I can almost see her breath fog glass.
Unto the dark and into light,
Unto the dark and into light
We shall forebode our passions and dreams.
-Mitch
made a life grasping at
straws
(ohwhatdoesitmeanwhat
doesitmeanwhatdoesit
meanwhatdoesitmean?!!),
stripping apart the wonderful
melodies, riffs, curious
vocal stylings, rhythms, poetic
lyrical beats pulsating
throughout, deep bass
vibrating & hypnotic
drums & percussion,
all to get to the
core of what s/he thought would
eventually
save him/her
from his/her own disgusting
reflection---
but the interpreter shows
him/herself to be nothing more
than a talentless suggestion
of what could’ve been
had s/he just chilled the **** out
& enjoyed other people’s
art for what it was,
simply wonderful, ecstatic
beauty, of which without,
most of us would most certainly
die
crying.
HOW TO ALIGN A FINE LINE
Who can resist the pull of such a competition
Where the rules are so clear,
But the topic is like sex in the 60s revolution:
Filled with pitfalls but (yes, it was) - freer
Similar to the Argentine gaucho named Bruno
Who said well there’s one thing I do know
- Slang is fine,
Intentional misspellings are divine,
But a llama is numero uno.
And whose “who’s” is in question? Not mine!
Hey, they’re writing “their” over there
When it oughta be “they’re”.. . . Ok, Fine!
The effect of all this is to affect my degree of care
(And to effect a change in all poets, I hope).
Since mine is not a KNOCK-OUT of a poem
And I am certainly no dope
Nor am I a gnome from Nome or even Chomsky Noam
I hesitate to use the non-existent
Cringer word “irregardless” regardless
Of the consequences extant,
Or in future years countless.
………………………………………
Written by a nameless, talentless poet
For Nancy Jones’s Contest “Fine Line”
The typewritter the empty page.
Time has forgotten you.
As we worship the talentless in a foreign age.
Cheap **** and a old lush.
Poddle skirts and a highschool crush.
Wornout jeans and a no longer spoke about bands patch.
Sneaking out the window .
Unlocking that old gates latch.
Forbidden lovers and young hearts loving thta first feeling
so very true.
The stars are a midnight canvas.
Rain and beauty reflect the same to old and new.
Coins in a wishing well thrown by a lost
young teenage girl.
Sweet agony and diary pages.
Red lipstick andher hairs natrule curl.
the scent of innocence and regret fill's the air.
Bitter souls loath the foolish
young who reach for a place where only dreamers dare.
Like a mustang down a empty backroad through this life we
blew.
So many feelings it leaves you numb.
As the guard must change from old to new.
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