Guest Bard (duet): No F***s Given

A bit of a different one today, for my Guest Bard, Serins (of Serins Sphere) decided she’d like to write a poem WITH me, which is completely awesome, as we were both thinking along the same lines with regard to social injustices and our responses at the time. So here you have it – our duet. Thanks Serins 🙂 Lizzi

Homeless Doorway

i

Brown eyes staring straight at me.

WTF I’m having my cup of tea.

 

You are wearing such a dirty rag!

You smell of wine and your feet are bare!

No ways am I getting a note from my designer bag!

Because simply put, I don’t care!

 

Are you walking down the street shaking your head?

Wearing pyjamas and talking to who?

Let me walk to the other side as soon as the traffic light hits red.

Cause you simply seem to have no clue!

Besides I don’t want to catch your kind of flu.

 

Don’t shout at me “I’m homeless” – I can SEE

But somehow you’re well dressed – so no dice

You were a jerk and so no, you don’t get pity

I would have bought you lunch if you were NICE

 

I don’t mind the people selling the homeless paper

At least they’re TRYING to help themselves

But when you sit on your ass in the gutter, later

Getting wasted on cheap booze from bottom shelves

Ignoring the homeless shelter, I wanna shake ya

 

Why don’t you just TRY? I know *I* can’t make ya

But don’t spend stranger’s pennies on cigs and drink

We don’t appreciate that kind of wastrel faker

And would prefer to spend cash on the ones we think

Might use it to improve. Wallowing’s a deal-breaker.

 

 

ii

Don’t you dare look down on me with your snot filled nose!

Life has dealt me a hard blow,

So excuse me if I don’t strike a pose!

What do you know?

Apparently you care?

Putting in a good deed, so that the world can see you are fare.

 

Do you think your bodily excretions don’t stink?

Your apparent blue blood gives you a special kind of stench.

Aren’t we the same underneath the skin?

Your disgust, makes me feel like a vicious kind of sin.

 

My uncle rapes me nearly every other night!

We are too hungry to put up against this any kind of fight!

So, yes you bitch – I will toss that baby on the street!

It is better off dead then walking in these horrible feet.

 

You are not better than me!

Why should you have so much?

Sitting there eating that expensive feast?

Of us two who is now the beast?

Take a walk in my shoes, now if you dare!

I’m sad to say that I know this world just does not care!

 

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The Power of Practical Thinking

I read a book recently entitled The Survivors Club, and in it is the true story of a famous shipwreck and how those who lived through many days in lifeboats on the open seas were able to survive. What they learned about survival is that it doesn’t pay to be on either end of the thinking spectrum (ie neither unrealistically positive or completely negative).  I don’t know why, but it just kind of invited a limerick. Forgive me.

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The Power of Practical Thinking

 

 Haters gonna hate.

That really is the truth.

But faking all the positive,

Can also be uncouth.

 

Oft times, I get tired

Of those who force my hand

Telling me to buck it up

Cuz they misunderstand.

At times you just can’t force it.

It doesn’t take a shrink

To see that inscrutable optimism

May leave you in the drink

 

Let me tell you a little story,

About a ship gone down

Caught up in a raging storm,

Most crew and passengers drowned.

There were a few survivors,

And from them I take my cue.

Sometimes you just can’t pretend,

That the devil doesn’t want his due.

 

The living took off in lifeboats

From the sinking vessel

The optimists were first to die

Cuz it was just to hard to wrestle

With ideas that they just might not

Be saved from the expansive sea

Rather they jumped overboard,

Than accept reality.

 

Neither did the pessimists survive unsurpassed,

They lasted just a few more days

Before on to death they passed.

It seems they could not foresee,

That things just might work out.

So sure were they after just two days

They jumped and didn’t mill about

 

The pragmatists lived to tell

The story to you and me,

Neither were they full of doubt

Nor did they refuse to see.

So when I come across someone

Who refuses to let me be

I tell the story of the lifeboats

And the survivors of the Persephone.

 

 

 

A Hypothetical Conclusion

Peace Rose

Go! Go! Go!

Hands grip, arms pull

Legs piston furiously

Windblown tears streak down

Unfeeling cheeks

 

Go! Go! Go!

Blood hums through veins

Determination pulsing

Each tyred mile

Beneath my wheels

 

Go! Go! Go!

Joints scream, muscles shriek

Sweat burns my hollow eyes

Breath rasps into burning lungs

Mea culpa and be silent, tempted tongue.

 

Go! Go! Go!

I outstrip others 1, 2, 3

Knowing when I return

Stripped, reflected failure

Is all I will see

 

Go! Go! Go!

I glimpse a guttered bird

Eyes wide and flyblown

Unnatural angles of impact

In peach-grey feathered shroud

 

Go! Go! Go!

Envy rises like bile

For the dove at peace

My salt-slicked body feels alive

My stagnant spirit rotten on the half-shell

 

Go! Go! Go!

Mind whirs nonsense

Spinning alongside my wheels

My heartbeat rises black

Behind my eyes

 

Go! Go! Go!

Brain filled with white noise

No sense of the impending

Rainbow explosion of sound

My thoughts have hurtled too far

 

Go! Go! Go!

I am flying; accidentally free

There will be flowers

At the roadside

And peace for me

Worn

Peasant-Sitting-by-the-Fireplace-(Worn-Out)source

My brother came to me in a dream

He thanked me for standing by him,

For believing him when very few could.

I told him I never believed him.

 

“You didn’t want to know,

You never asked.

You just wanted to think that someone believed.

I didn’t matter to you.

What I thought was never of great consequence.

You just didn’t care if I believed you or not.

So why come to me now?

Are you searching?

Or is this my doing,

Somewhere in a restive slumber

Hoping beyond hope that you could?”

 

The whole thing has me worn.

I’m tired of praying that my disbelief is the sin of my arrogance,

That the truth has not gone with him to the grave.

I hope I was wrong to think him a liar,

Because even if he didn’t care what I thought,

I care what he did.

Two Shoes Tuesdsay the cue was “tattered.”