Drain Bamage


I’m beginning to indulge how fucked up I really am
By comparison, I can’t relate to the ‘Son of Sam’
However, I do find murderers rather amusing
And I enjoy being the mind that makes life confusing

I don’t quite care when children die
And it doesn’t affect me to see a loved one cry
Is this wrong? Who’s to say?
Why waste time with empathy.

Funerals I will stay away from
And weddings I find humdrum and ho-hum
Poor bastard went and found a wife
Perhaps he’ll be happy til death, what a life!

Please don’t tell me of your trying times
I don’t care, I’m likely bursting from my insides
Inner peace and happiness comes from not giving a shit
Behold my field where I grow “my fucks”, as you can see it’s desolate

I won’t go out of my way to inflict hurt and pain
It just takes too much energy to cause that much disdain
Instead I’ll sit, I’ll watch, I’ll wait
And take delight in someone else’s horrendous twist of fate

Clear to see by certain standards I might be certified
A professional loon, a crazy guy, who wears that badge with pride
What goes around may come around and karma takes it’s toll
Consider this though, I’m on the backswing, and embracing that I am a troll

I wasn’t always like this, there was a time I cared
I would bend over backwards and any life would be spared
That person is so far away now, lost in the darkness of a fractured mind
In life there’s only moving forward, recollecting is our rewind

I used to ponder what has happened to make me be this way
Perhaps just one too many drinks, or too many tokes on Mary Jane
It really doesn’t matter though, I’m happy being me
A super fucked up crazy man that thinks life should be care free

Outside the box and jester like I’ll give chaos a push
Setting fires to the trees just to find a talking bush
Telling tales and dead baby jokes
To all the Christian abortion folks

So overthrow your government
And find out where your money’s spent
Then take a walk into deep water
And fill your pockets with golden fodder

Drown yourself and escape your cares
There’ll be no more worrisome wares
Take that advice and run with it
And please don’t breed more stupid kids

As fucked up as I may seem at least I’m not in charge
If indeed that was the case, criminals would stay at large
Pillaging and plundering, burning women and raping houses
Doing as their hearts content, whatever causes psychotic arouses

Just a peak into my warped world that I clearly think should exist
Instead, society wants me to be concerned with walls and senseless precedence
One day I say folks will wake up and make a better place to live
For now I’ll sit and fester here and think of when I used to give.

By: Charles Poore

Star Spangled Shut Down

Star Spangled Shut Down

O please stay shut down, for as long as you can
Turns out we can make it without you
by lending each other an open hand
Seems as though you underestimated
How much we care for our fellow woman and man
When push comes to shove we are born first as human
And it matters not the colors that fly above the land
So long as at the end of the day we did the best we can.

From the east where daylight begins
And the sun makes its way overhead
Where a once good idea was adopted
Has since been bought, corrupted, and left for dead
Now it’s people are ignorantly divided
And no one knows just where to stand
Unless their told by a dollar sign
That casts a shadow on the land.

So let them follow and watch them fall
All the sheep that heed the call
To the place of constant toils
Where greed is indeed the victors spoils
Stay determined for your six feet of space
Below the dirt in a silent place
For all your life you paid for it
As they fed you redundant shit.

Watch and witness history repeat itself o’er again
Build the wall and defend against a nonthreatening brotherland
And when the big one hits the West
And all the water comes rushing in
The ice will melt and saturate the grounds
Nourishing a once dry land
The wall will break and flood the south
And maybe then we’ll start over…again….

By: Charles Poore

The Spot

The Spot

There is no real place to mark happiness
The burn mark in the back of the mind
That’s possibly where it’s placement is
That one little spot in memories’ repose
That must be the best space it fits.

It’s where the smile stems from, I suppose
Who am I to judge a wasted sense of energy?
All the glee stored from times long forgotten
Wasted away in a moment that will flee
Only to shatter the simplicity of a moment.

Yet, here we are negotiating some twisted talent
As if we all look up to some sun shining
Bedazzled and bewitched by words
That tongues flesh would indeed deny
So each fifth line might just imply.

Negative, and opposite couth ramblings
That bring about sad reckonings
Will twist a bit at internal standards
Among the weak and those that step on things
Causing cataclysmic tumultuous godawfulhorriblethings.

‘Oh Well’ is where my doting smile resides
In the non-caring uneventful skies
The place where no one’s doorbell rings
On birthdays, holidays, or any day
Gotta love memories’ repose, at least that’s some place happiness goes.

By: Charles Poore

Poem #4 in my duel with Andrea Lodge McKillip my word was sesquipedalianism.

Heuristic Workshop

In response to a certain moderators opinionated indiscretions
My inquisitive nature has prompted me to post numerous interjections

I know for certain I didn’t ask for your rudimentary thoughts about poems
About truncation, rhyme scheming, and prose accepting poetic rhythm
Though your workshops are insightful there’s much more indeed to wordsmithing
No one here knows it all and to act as such is unsatisfactory.

I’m now inclined to acquiest rules about doggerel poetry
Though, words are subjective, and biased judges shoehorn themselves unconsciously.
Insipid? Sure. Some poets are in a quandary on how to get the words just right
We’ve all been there in some shape, way, or form and if I discouraged, I’d feel contrite.

In past experiences with those who proclaim guidance
My words were deemed superfluous and drowned out by the egomaniacal incumbant
No matter though, at least I know that it’s all these things rolled into one that makes the world’s design
I simply prefer to progress through trial and error instead of following pseudointellectual decline.

By: Charles Poore

Cowards Are Our Heroes

‘Cowards Are Our Heroes’

True-self transcends the sands of time
Antiquity places name on being
Triumphant, despite glass defining the spine.

Listen as the order comes, “align the cannons properly.
Forward march! attack the villains heart.
I’ll sit back, waiting for the general’s to report to me.”

All the puppets pierce, thrown like a dart.
The ruler writes tales of peace,
proclaiming, “war is indeed a work of art!”

The bugles sing a nightly song of the days recently deceased.
Slayed only by the venomous words of a propagandist’s pandering.
“They payed with their lives the price for your fuel to be increased.

They layed it down upon the field to still our enemies’ slandering.
I invite you to watch the news while enjoying your creature comforts.
Sit on your couch and reward yourselves with our corporations brand-name.”

Through the t.v. applause is heard, it must be deafened by the ruler’s ramparts.
For outside my window, all I hear, is the endless chirp of crickets.
Though, I can see an erie glow, through which minds are altered using beatless hearts.

Just like nothing ever happened I hear an ad for an events tickets.
Apathetic as I’ve ever been I look out into the cable’s twilight.
Stillness, stealing away the night, I whisper softly, “…to-hell-with-this….”

My thoughts drift away from caring what I’m told is wrong and right.
Inherently, I know it’s wrong to murder, rape, and dismember anyone.
It is as though much has been corrupted…it’s just the beginning of the night.…

I watch and learn what not to be, from those who proclaim to love ‘the son’
Indifference of my good-self took hold of me many years ago
And now I look around and laugh-out-loud, “it’s hysterical what these folks have done!

Everones afraid of something non-existent and places they don’t know.
No-one plays outside these days for fear of their new neighbor.
Best of all the back-seat mindset is ‘I’ll see you down below’.

Basically, you can’t get in your car without signing a phanatic’s waiver,
And it’s tough to go out anywhere unless it’s some planned protest or funding.
I tell you, it’s a shame these days, that all good is done with intent of favor.”

And so the sun will rise again upon the imbeciles who think they run things.
Supposedly, appointed by those who share their dreams and visions.
In a diluted world where minds are jellied by events that could be screened.

By: Charles Poore