For 5 : For Them

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For Them

 

It's the middle of winter, but

I'm sweating through my uniform.

Now I notice it's dripping

On my graffiti-ridden communal desk, and

My sand-whitened black regulation shoes.

My friends shiver underneath their blazers--

For them, I don't request the fan.

It's been ages since the old man decided

That it's good not to think of oneself

That it's good to be selfless, devoid of ego

That it's good to care, good to share;

But as of yet the old man has offered no advice

On the daily inculcation of his goodness--

And after all these years, despite much effort,

We haven't, yet, quite figured it out.

My people in all their flawed perfection

Prefer ruthlessly imperfect leaders.

Those closest to me know that I was born a perfectionist.

Rather obsessive-compulsive, if you will.

That... that ruthless imperfection... it's like surgery.

False moves equal death -- how can I?

But maybe. Maybe for them.

The spectre of my self-doubt

Is a lanky, wispy, annoying presence.

He smirks and grins and patronizes;

He runs away from all trouble on his pesky legs

And returns, grinning, when the dust settles:

On my black regulation shoes.

His shoes, I've noticed, don't see much cleaning.

Nor do those teeth he grins with, the fool.

Sometimes I forget the old man's dreams.

Sometimes I resent my comfortably clothed friends--

I stride up and switch on all the fans at once.

Sometimes I claw at my wraith as he cunningly fades--

I fell his Cheshire grin to the ground and beat it to pulp.

Sometimes the children in the sandy park

Seem unworthy of all we do for them.

I confess that I'm not free of treacherous fantasy.

There are times when I could kill;

Not just kill, but torment souls

And condemn them to eternal damnation.

That infuriating uniform sticks  to my skin

While I toil for woollen-lined people who don't give a hoot

For wrinkled ideals from a distant Dream--

Those lusting liars, fat cats, scheming slatterns!

But eventually I shiver -- with it I relearn sympathy.

The children squeal -- I remember the old man's labours.

And my ghost? The ghost is but my spirit!

That unsure skeleton is me in another life!

I built him as an aggregation of my wrong choices--

To remind me to safely separate thought from action.

The ghost, I know now, is my creation-- for them.

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For 4 : For Once

For Series, 4th poem. Venturing outside my comfort zone with this one, with respect to style.

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For Once

The smiles are hidden and distorted

By strange, dripping puddles on the incomplete glass;

The rough wood, caught up in the lacy tablecloth,

Keeps the frame precariously still--

Askew, but safe between flames and the floor.

The faces in the frame want to look again into those eyes

That saw in them their entire lives, and much more;

And made them, in secret gratitude, the heroes of stories

That the world's people called masterpieces, but which

They knew to be fond memories --

Signatures live, in soot stains and dried wax,

Of nights without electricity: labours of love.

The tired face with half-closed eyes,

Resting on a tired, vein-lined elbow,

Wants to feel, again, the heat of a mind racing

To keep up with wildly competing visions:

Of exotic adventures, bloody wars... car chases, crowds!

It wants, again, to feel the sweat dripping

From the forehead of genius down the brow of wisdom,

Down the rough cheeks, flushed, and lips slightly parted

From exhaustion, excitement, and the sheer thrill of creation.

But not anymore, the inspiration from reminiscence;

Not anymore, the colourful dreams by candlelight,

Immortalized in royal blue ink for the public's adulation.

The intellect made feverish by uncensored exploitation

No longer finds its children worthy of their birth pangs--

The mind that knows to madden crowds and critics alike

Grows uneasy behind that weary, half-lit face.

So what if they soil the birthplace of his creations?

For once, he wants the candle flames

To consume smile, vision and memory;

For once, all love and art, to him, is in the faint music

Of the missing shard of glass falling to the floor,

The ink-stained grip that held the world, now loosened

By the dark pools steadily engulfing the soot stains on the lace.

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Good or clichéd? Let me know! Actually, this is my second poem on the general topic, my first being a rather childish one.

At the time I thought that (the linked one) was scary, but I've written many negative poems since then, including the one above. I invite you to check out my earlier poems and tell me if I do better on the dark ones or the happy ones.

Take care.

For 3 : For Fun

Back on the For wagon. Read on!

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For Fun

You know that fun guy

With the fun friends

Who does all those things for fun?

Things like 

Smuggling alcohol into campus,

Sneaking out at night to party,

Blackmailing his parents for the new iPad,

Selling leaked test papers,

Etcetera?

Well, the other day at basketball

His shirt rode up for an instant

And we saw scars all over his torso,

Some fresher than the others.

Everyone thought what you're thinking:

One of his fun friends even said it.

But, knowing him, I'm pretty sure --

And I think, knowing him, you will agree --

That he probably just does it for fun.

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I've never addressed this issue on this blog before, but if you know of someone committing self-harm, please get help. Now. Especially teenagers, do keep an eye on your friends -- and know that a) suicidal tendencies are not the only negative coping strategies to be worried about and b) a troubled mind is not always apparent. So be there for your friends, and ask a lot of questions about everything.

For 2 : For Friendship

Taking it 'for'ward. Ignore the bad pun, please, and read on.
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For Friendship

We've always done a lot for friendship.
We've lowered standards,
Altered expectations,
Reconsidered principles.
We've tolerated ugliness, vice, weakness.
We've opened our homes and hearts
To leeches, beggars, thieves
And given overt benefits of the doubt.
We've rewarded manipulation and betrayal
With compromise and second chances.
We've risked reputation, integrity,
Identity, sanity, health, wealth,
Privacy, family, country -- even life.

So I think it's time we let everyone know
That what we've done for friendship
We've done for friendship alone.
If there's anything else
That they'd like to append to friendship --
Be it business, or worse, be it pleasure --
They're on their own.
Because only for friendship will we ever
Stoop as low as we have.
Everything else
We'd like to do with dignity.

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How far would you go for friendship? Let me know.

For 1 : For Innocence

Beginning the 'For' Series.
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For Innocence

Let us all strive for innocence today.

Let's show the world our best puppy-dog eyes

And flash our pearl-toothed ingratiation.

Let our tongues rival the finest silver,

Let servile flattery be our clothing

And hypocrisy our adornment;

Let our self-love and egotism, garbed

Covertly in gold and silk, be disguised

In the humble livery of service.

Let's win hearts and confidences and trust

And eventually minds and bodies,

And finally races, peoples, nations...

...let's decree innocence mandatory!

Let's enforce its permanent residence

Beneath women's veils, abused children's smiles --

Then, we'll celebrate 'cause we saved the world,
Rid it of suspicion, complications, --
And made it a safe place for our children,
Where no child will suspect a stranger's touch,
People will procreate but not know how.
It'll be Paradise -- but the fruit, untouched,
Will never tell man of his nakedness.

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Reference to The Good Book... what-what?!