The fear I feel is real
The pain I have to hide
Frozen in a silent scream
All motion is denied
A suit to cloak my cuts
This sacrificial goat
A belt across my back
A tie around my throat
Behind this pane of glass
No one can see me cry
Each day drones on and on
While the crowd passes by
So come a little closer
You'll see just who I am
I'm both your whipping boy
And your Mannequin Man
You have this great idea.
Why not let me be your everything?
You will no longer be accountable or responsible
For your actions, words or deeds.
I will be your wife, mother, cousin, sister, whatever.
You can point to me when things go wrong.
I will be the scapegoat, the whipping boy.
You can meander through the valley of life unscathed
If you are sad, worried or depressed, it will be my fault
I am queen of your world now, you are blameless and faultless
If I am thrown into a dungeon, that is on me.
A sinking log, because I allowed you to make me your everything.
The sea was in trouble; turning from blue to black
Nothing alive could survive, said Captain Quack
His ship was bouncing by the storm this night
Everything felt lose, nothing tied down tight.
We were tossed and blown, a sailor fell into the sea.
He screamed a few times, many hands counted three.
A shark was seen circling, so we turned away.
It was too gruesome to think about, too late to pray.
Our clipper ship was bound for the West Indies.
Where spices were waiting of all textures and degrees.
We lost four bodies in all during this storm of strife.
Two cooks, a whipping boy, and the captain’s wife.
Let’s be pirates Sammy suggested to her Halloween-loving dad.
He immediately pictured her dressed as a whipping boy lad.
She came downstairs looking like a sexy pirate queen wench.
Father stormed out to tinker in his garage, using his workman’s bench.
What is wrong? The girl asked her more than a tiny bit amused mother.
If you do not know, go ask your twenty-two-year old brother.
Competition for the few vetted by the fewer
What's seen subjectively haughty choosing of a loser
Visceral assertion deemed a sycophantic t w a t
Prideful ego lifted veinly all but one have been forgot
Not important but you made it so just take it as it is
You're a whipping boy of some poor schmuck a name upon a list.....
Bite Size Poem no.4 Poetry Contest
We are surrounded said the young whipping boy. There was terror in his voice.
“We are going to DIE!” he screamed.
The more mature crew members knew better.
They had been surrounded before, many times.
They kept their cool.
Just for fun the Captain shouted, “WE’RE GOING TO DIE!”
A first mate pushed the whipping boy into the water.
The crocodiles got him quickly.
This set the oldsters up for a laughing contest.
They began to advertise for their next whipping boy too.
There's a lady that I know
Everyone calls her Skitzo.
She's a CRAZY WOMAN! Such a CRAZY WOMAN!
One day sweet,the next day mean.
With her there's no in between.
She's a CRAZY WOMAN! Such a CRAZY WOMAN!
Got those CRAZY WOMAN blues.
I don't know why I love her,cause I know the chick's bad news.
Got those CRAZY WOMAN blues.
Though she's practically psychotic,ain't no woman more erotic.
She will love you,drain you dry.
Then she'll spit right in your eye.
She's a CRAZY WOMAN! Such a CRAZY WOMAN!
Well,her middle name is stress.
24/7 PMS.
She's a CRAZY WOMAN! Such a CRAZY WOMAN!
Got those CRAZY WOMAN blues.
Her wish is my desire,her commands I can't refuse.
Got those CRAZY WOMAN blues.
Oh, I wish that she would choose me,how I want her to abuse me.
CRAZY WOMAN, be my wife. I'm your whipping boy for life.
She's a CRAZY WOMAN! Such a CRAZY WOMAN!
She's CRAAAZY! She's tilt a whirl.
But I'm CRAAAZY about that girl.
She's a Nutty Buddy.
She's a Moody Fruity.
She's a Tricky Sicky.
She's a Loony Toony.
Sharp The Edges, Of Poet's Pen Turned To Fight,
( New Dawn,Third Battle And Final Slash ) -
Part Three
From within, a gifted calm brings a tranquil peace
to poet's soul that searched and found a new lease
and with foresight decided to take pen to write,
about shadowy black beast, that stabs in dark of night.
Now massive strength that old poets's pens often yields
succors heart and grants victory on battlefields
new ink hones blade, gifts poetic words that destroy,
that savage beast that sought to make a whipping boy!
From poetry comes a Light that, gives true powers
which destroys wicked beasts, lurking in dark towers
by shining wisdom from classic poetic verse,
to cut those, that such illuminations do perverse.
Lo! Be aware what may be found seeking true Light
Sharp the edges, of poet's pen turned to fight!
Robert J. Lindley, 10-19-2019
Sonnet, ( The Third And Final Battle-- Part Three)
Conclusion- Three Part Series..
Note: This is the last to be written on this subject in regards to
this specific incident. I offer this series for the hiding fool,
the worthless opponent to come on and try to refute.
nuff said... old poet, Still writing...
In a child's blueprint
Most telling memories
Lay dead and buried
Prior to ghosts that torment him grown
The plain act
Of daydreaming
Has ways to call forth
A multitude of zombies from his past
Like a family friend playing father
After Dad's recent demise
Assisting the mother easily overcome
By her youngest boy dubbed Exceptional
Taken aside and told
He's really something
But aware it did not amount to a lot
Through the eyes of those most dear
Poured from purloined bottles of poison,
Whose drip is but a crimson crash,
Of whisky washing my lips which moisten,
With a humid dew of drowning cash.
From the pocket pours the absinthe green;
Tourmaline trash tossed atop the torrent,
Which washes over with drunken mondegreen,
Slurred words whispered with neither wish nor warrant.
To drown in glass filled with vicious avoirdupois,
Whose weight is watched by the wrap of a whipping boy,
Is but death by pint and shots of strife,
Sipped away in a sinking sea of life.
Spare me of my liquor lips,
Whose tongue-licked wish is sips,
Of that which drowns me drunk,
As I, the captain, sink in a ship I've sunk.
Whipping Boy
A whipping boy
Along with bully pulpit
Are both weird at times.
Jim Horn
There's no sentiment in business
loyalty counts for nothing at all
my employers couldn't care less
but there's no chance that I'll crawl
I'm nobody's whipping boy to hell with them
they won't ware me down, no surrender
these people are wrong, I'm not scum
I will protect my rights, I will always remember
the thank you mate, I owe you one
can you stay late, change your holiday,
now those favours are forgotten all gone
but we're really sorry to let you go, they say
your experience has no consequence now
things have changed, we have progressed
this is wrong, this is not right I can't allow
this kind of oppression, or am I obsessed,
just yesterdays man on the scrap heap,
all the hard work that they got so cheap.
Someone or something, replaceable.
Composed 20/03/2017.
Entered in never going to drag me down contest,
Sponsored by Julie Leigh Rodeheaver.
She brings me pain and without ill,
in the best of ways she brings me chills.
She brings me down to a slower pace,
to a lower height and another place.
She makes me beg and makes me plead,
and scream for more to fill my need.
She fills my eyes with tears of joy,
I love that I'm her whipping boy.
My gift to her is all I save,
I give my all to be her slave.
I feel I move when chained and still,
for she knows how to break my will.
She's so much stronger it makes me sick,
she don't know magic and don't do tricks.
I count down minutes,
hours,
and days,
to be my DOMINATRIXXX slave...
March 2011
I’m the cries of the hopeless in the night
I’m the darkness in every man’s soul
I’m the reason that you give up the fight
And surrender all your control
I’m despair
I kill from the inside out
Despair
Fill you with nothing but doubt
I’m despair
Welcome me in
I’m the sponge sucking up your happiness
I’m the one that takes all of your joy
I leave behind me only emptiness
And make you my whipping boy
I’m despair
I kill from the inside out
Despair
Fill you with nothing but doubt
I’m despair
Thanks for letting me in
Welcome to my hell
All I had to do was love her with all my heart and it would be OK.
I clung to her to save her life, as she wriggled.
Love, a propped up cardboard cutout,
Trust, her whipping boy
Hope, a bloodied and bruised up mess, with its eyes swollen shut.
A flame once burned, my ray of hope; and she placed it beneath her spoon.
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