Grievance Dump

[Professor Ven]

Utilizing Poetry (which for no authentic reason I despise) to work my mind from depression. Said a lewd remark to a good friend of mine, and I didn't mean it the way they might have taken it. So in my natural way of doing things, I apologized in their sudden grief, explained myself, and entered a state of mind not entirely unlike that of a hermit crab.

For some reason I enjoy triple-rhymes.

8C

His brain addled and not too bright
Much like a flame caught in the light
Of idiocy thought to be right.

Wrinkled hands mottled with age
Robes not scarlet, but sage
Eyes keen, with inner rage.

Incantations many to behold,
Spells of the forbidden untold,
Akin to morphing lead to gold.

Whispers of lost phrases,
Like prolonged court cases,
Sure-footed, well-placed paces.

He is the Wizard.

​

 

[Chuman]

I liked it. I know, it's a simple rhyme-schemed poem, but I enjoyed it. Short and sweet, with a continuous theme that didn't stray off path like other rhyme-related poems tend to do *cough*, anyway, great job, I hope to see more.

Also, this has to do with your friend? Is he from Hogwarts?

 

[Professor Ven]

His blue box flowed throughout the World,
And found naught but a hand curled,
Stretched out for boiled
Hot soup, riddled with cheese
And tomatoes, the scene
Of which left him wheezing
For all the words of men
Left such a sight indescribable to him.

His mind wept akin to
Killing angels, their granite
Skin so soft to his touch.

So soft.​

 

[Reflection]

second one is interesting. i like the helplessness it evokes

this has to do with your friend? Is he from Hogwarts?

 

[Professor Ven]

Meandering thoughts of
Bubbling idiosyncrasies
And undulating mesmerisms
Flop and flock about.

The heart beats, its
Ruddy flow, warm and
Eternally constant -
Water of life.

Flowers weep for
Water in the Sun's
Blazing, scorching
Heat, crying out.

Boxes lie dusty,
Untouched save by
Thought and time,
The luscious cocoa
And caramel treats
Within grow another
Year older.

The aged man
Sits, pulling at
Frayed strings -
Bereft of all, save
For his memory.

Rustic photographs
Line the walls, the smiles
And birthday cakes and
Wedding suits abound,
As tears streak down
A wrinkled face.​

 

[Professor Ven]

You all are nothing but fools.

Pilfering, philandering, placing yourselves
In such pretty little pampered pickles.
Simplicity obviously wasn't the degree
You chose, you silly little sesame-seed
Bun-loving sycophants, to rule in this manner.

It is the smouldering stench of
Indecision and this constant tirade
Of quaffing squabbles, this boorish
Nonsensical ostracism which I find,
Quite simply, a marked waste, a
Detestable shunting of all that is
COMMON SENSE, if Paine is to be
Believed in his once-radical notions.

Wherefore is a strong and just
Rule here, now? Have the birds
Simply flown the coops of your
Minds, or is it simply indecision
And erroneous claims that adorn
Your childish turns of phrase?

Bias abounds, most certainly -
Dost thou see the harvest ye
Have sown with your little
Choices, your pickings of
The human field? Are you
So blind to all else save
That which is most important -
And verily so?

I weep for those who
Suffer 'neath your
Needless existence -
Their plight, their burden is
Twofold yours already - your
Obtuseness only adds to their
Severed strains.

Many, if not all, desire
That oft-spoken golden age,
That age of newness, of
Nostalgic reminiscence.
They are assuredly fools
Who worship only the past,
And take leave of their minds
For the future - are they not?


Are we not all fools
In some manner of perspective?
Am I so willingly to judge that
Which is so often overlooked?
Perhaps I am - you cannot say
Otherwise - to that end, I see
That I must serve; to not perform
So would be a falsehood.
And again, I say thus:

You are nothing but fools.
Fools you shall remain, pretty
Little pickled people, until at last
You are all placed into a jar
For display in the local fair here
And I hope much mockery and mirth
May come of such an end.​

 

[Professor Ven]

Teardrops

Drip-drop the teardrops,
Like rain they plip-plop,
After snaking in their steady streams.

Meandering along they
Beg questions unanswered,
Stifled sobs wracking even
The "strongest" of hearts.

Falling, they shatter,
Like glass, or a time-spent-on
Plastic-block creation.
Happiness fades before this
Growing despair.

The mental clawing
For only a smile
Resonates, a desperate plea
In a vast, abyssal sea,
And all the while-
Failing to keep from falling.

The teardrops only fall,
As the mind only closes
In on itself, shutting out
The smiles and laughter,
Of hours spent in only
Grinning silence, a dystrophic
Blank stare concealing Upset.​