OWED.

OWED.

By Ben Charles

    I am owed happiness.

Says who?

                                                                 I am owed love. 

Says who?

                                                                                    I am owed sex. 

Says who?

                                                                          I am owed L I F E.

Says who?

The rolling rock gathers moss,
mankind resentfully collects and counts her cost,
while mothers weep and mourn her loss.
Divine demiurge or celestial chance,
depending on who you ask,
gathered us all here to today.
Either impossible odds or omniscient god
They gave us everything and nothing.
Gave us the night, gave us the day.
Odds of fractions to the trillions
Gave us bare feet on the grass,
gave us love shortlived, lifelong and past.

Is this owed to the simians?

Perhaps,
Every existence per hapless sap,
Spits in the face of reason,
We’re God’s Laws’ treason
searching El Dorado without a map.

So here we are.
What’s left to do?
We demand more, we demand respect.
We need a better nose, we’re owed a newer car.
I am owed an expensive vacation if not 2 or 3 on a yearly basis
I am owed paper featuring dead men’s faces.
I am owed all this, plus a wife and a bigger house than you.

I am owed.

 

I am owned.

Goodbye, Copper

Hello, readers.

Thanks again for viewing my work and all of the likes and great comments I’ve had on it so far. I will be adding a new, exciting portion to this blog that I hope all of you enjoy, as well.

But right now I want to share something a little sad. Recently, my parents had to put their dog down. He was a beautiful coonhound/bloodhound mix and a super affectionate, loving dog. Unfortunately, he was also an anxious and scared dog, which caused him to bite people unexpectedly, myself included. I was incredibly sad not only for his loss but also for the loss of all of the joy and companionship that he gave my parents, who now live alone. I hope that you enjoy this poem, and I hope it expresses how I feel adequately. My plan is to revise and edit this in the future but knew it was important to get my feelings out.

Thank you,

Ben Charles

 

Goodbye, Copper

by Ben Charles

I remember the day I first saw you
peeking to the open fields on my iPhone screen.
You were in my father’s arms, full of wonder, content in his plaid jacket.
You were mischievous and devious and new to life,
impatient to unravel the mysteries of all you could see.

Tiny and nimble, you tore the world asunder.
You had new friends to make, new foods to eat and a coffee can that always needed a thrashing.
You were sweet, you gave love and were loved to bits, even when you spazzed and threw fits.

“Cute little bastard, isn’t he?” My brother asked at the Christmas party.
He was right, but you cared hardly.
You had a village of a family, a belly full of junk, and a heart full of joy.
My eldest brother mourns you the most, you were his entire world.
I smile remembering the days he’d bring you fast food and toys,
you had him wrapped around your paw, he knew it and he didn’t care.
He told me he has nothing to look forward to at home, now that you’re not there.

I wish I could have saved you, and please know that I tried.
I wish I could have told you how serious biting is, that you could understand.
The seeds of doubt were planted when you bit my hand.
Then you bit the drunkard and my mother cried.

Anxious and afraid, you chased ghosts and delusions.
While the townspeople whispered rumours, theories and illusions.
Some were true, most were false.
I loved how happy my parents were to have you,
their decision was not on impulse.

Do not be anxious, do not be afraid of where you lie.
When my mother went through with it, she cried and she cried.
I will always remember you, Copper. You left imprints in my heart and on my hand.
I hope that you find the peace that you never had in life.
I hope that is an end to your suffering and strife.

Goodbye, Copper.

IMG_0294

Word Porn

Cheap, mass-produced poetry.
McWords, Walt Whitman-Mart.
Pseudo-deep Hallmark,
complete with a brand and a watermark.
Peddled on the internet for free
To inspire, be shared, and to see
the depths of friends’ intelligence
and the limit of acquaintance patience.
No love, no thought, no care.
Words in arrangement that are just kind of there.
Inspire the masses to join your fitness classes
Or tell your friends that they’re beautiful,
but you have one more spot left to do their eyebrows,
your schedule is full.
Mind-numbing,  addictive shit.
A path to forget,
how to express the soul. Give it to a brand, spiritual advertising space.
Shameful and celebrated, thieves of dignity.
Stolen fame, fake names. Emotions out of context and quotes out of place.
The more and more I see on my feed
of a Marilyn Monroe quote, or a RELATABLE post pandering to a basic human need,
I curse and I scorn.
But I give them credit where it’s due,
for if you’re a writer they won’t do it for you,
at least the name is apt on the death of literature we mourn,
For it is truly Word Porn.

I Just Need A Day

I just need a day,
I always say,
As another one passes by,
And my deadlines become nigh.

I just need another hour,
I’ll do it after I cook something and maybe take a shower.
As another one passes by,
And my anxieties become high.

Just gimme a minute,
I say not realizing my time is finite
As another one passes by,
My girlfriend and the universe sighs.

Can you just gimme a second?
Time is infinite and yet there is none.
As another one passes by,
The hopes of completion surely die.

Can I have a moment?
I need to relax, I have too much stress. I need a chance to unwind, to get unbent.
As another one passes by,
So I take out another high-interest loan on borrowed time.

Home Away From Home (I Love You, Man)

Warm lights glow, warm friendships grow.

This is home.

Spent all day invisible, I spent all day on my phone.
As a nobody to everybody.

But not here.

Here, your entrance elicits a standing ovation.
Hoots, hollers, and laughter fill the room on your arrival,
Here, all of your words fall on intent ears and sincere consideration.
It’s warm lights, warm people, and chilled beer,
It makes it all worthwhile, it’s an episode of ‘Cheers’.

Here,
All pretention is gone, nothing or no one is better in another’s eyes.
You can lower your shield, shed your disguise.
Life is pretty damn good as a barfly.

Come, all ye desk jockeys, scholars, rig pigs, hillbillies, the old and the young.
Come, here we are legion, here we are one.
No one’s too good for anyone, nor is one too classless to be here.
Hell, it’s not even cliché to my fellow patrons that twice I rhymed “Beers” with “Cheers”.

You can have a seat, get away from the grand workings of the world
That you’re too tired to understand
Not that you care, as you’re not part of the plan.

But here, on elbow floors of oak, you are king, jester and knight.

In great halls, in stoic stalls,
In the land of marble, basins, and waterfalls
Friday philosophers clash wits, anecdotes, and intellect.
On all matters of utmost importance
In life, death, religion, and politics
Clear messages of heated passion battle through slurred speech, twisted tongue, hiccups
-and interruption.

But here,
It’s all in fun, it’s to stimulate the mind
To explore new ideas, or just pass the time.
We’re all speakin’ the truth, with just the right amount of uncited sources,
And just the right amount of lies.

We may not agree but respect our loud, distorted discourse.
And just love the company, love to be heard.

The RCMP

A proclaimed hunger for justice,
A silent thirst to kill.
I have the right;
Just give me a reason or two.
Both of those hands in your pockets will do.
You’ve got to be an addict and a thug.
I must assume that you’re a murderer, or at least on drugs.
I smile.
You’re too powerless to fight, too poor to sue.

The public eye scorns, the journalists cry,
“Why does another innocent person have to die!?”
We huff and we sigh.
Charade lazily,
“Our Thoughts and Prayers are with the family.”

Open tears.
Closed laughter.

This man again? What is he after!?
He’ll never learn his lesson,
I’ll fuckin’ learn him.
His drunken stumbles have stumbled on my nerves…

THE LAST FUCKING TIME!

He’ll learn his lesson.

I think a long walk home will sober him up,
Them Indians walk or ride stolen bikes,
When they’re not stealing cars,
Or stabbing each other in dykes or in bars

He’ll learn his lesson.

The Cold.
The Cold bites with the fury of one thousand suns
A thousand suns I wish for in the dark, the complete unknown.

Where am I?

Wet feet trudge towards nothing, towards a thought and a prayer
I cry.
The wind laughs at my misery and lashes my skin, my lips and my heart are sealed
I know that this it. I am condemned to die.

Dead feet trudge a dead man,
I am afraid.
Will I ever see my family again? My heart bleeds.
For I know I will not see them, they will only see me.

Dead feet trudge a dead man,
I fall.
Violent shaking, dead calmness of night.
Vivid visions of spectacular colours dance
Ancestors perform on this virgin stage of snow, ice and wind.
I watch the dance. No strength left to trudge.
The ice embraces me; I feel warmth for the last time.
I am afraid.
I don’t want to go,
But must be brave,
I accept my doom.
The RCMP
Chose this field as my tomb,
The ice as my grave.

 

 

CREATOR!

 

GOD!

Whoever is there,
Whoever can hear.
Why am I not dead yet?
Why have you forsaken
A Red Man
To turn Blue?

I repent,
I was once lost, but now am found
I was blind, but now I see
If only someone knew I was here
If only shards have ice have not blinded me
I only I wasn’t just an inconvenience in the eyes of the RCMP.

I am free.

 

“He learnt his lesson”,
Say the Children of God.
“He got what he deserved”,
Say the Children of God.

“That’s what happens when you get drunk”,
Say the Children of God.

“It was all his fault, really”,
Say the Children of God.

“His peaceful death was a blessing; he was saved from being lost. He was a drunk and a sinner, doomed for the flames of Hell. Now he’s with Jesus, Death saved him from himself.”
Say the Children of God.

 

Whatever happened to that ol’ drunk?
The one that we taught?
How come he is not here to thank us?
That’s just like them.

So entitled,

So victimized.
Just get over it, already. It’s been a long time now
since you were left childless, tongue-less and sodomized.

We are here to make you feel safe,
We are here to turn the Red to Pink,
We are here with a secret lust for blood,
We are here to bury language in the mud,
We are here to rape life, destroy peace,
We are here to keep The Problem policed,
We are here dutifully,
We are the RCMP.

Advertising

Curse you, relentless salesmen
You marketers of young and old
Who hound me to buy, to consume products sold
Again, again, and again

For now, it is the way, we cannot go a day
Without one million voices telling us
We are too ugly, too fat, too grey
We have no value without a sale of value
Our only hope and dreams lie with what we buy and dare not to discuss
We want more sex, we buy more drugs
But God forbid, that we dare discuss
Sex and drugs

Don’t let it cause you stress
Chill, let us sell you a pill
Reality is overrated, reality is a mess
I’m the Dr. here. Now, get the fuck out of my office. I have plenty more Xanax to shill

Watch TV, go on Facebook and Twitter to ease your mind
Our prospects of sales
Are very close behind
Here we are again, you cannot hide
Here we are again, without fail

Be your own boss!
Work your own hours!
But you have to have profits, no room for loss
Be aggressive in sales, do not let financially weak friends cower

We will return after a message from our sponsors
Was the way of the old
Like, follow, and subscribe
For new content every week
Is the way of the new

Advertise to your children
To find inspiration within
For wherever they look
They will only see a sales pitch, a marketing hook
A deal most fair
A Toxic world that’s 50% off if they buy in bulk
A Bud Light Monster Energy Deluxe White Trash Nightmare
A pseudo-entrepreneurial snake, a sales-machine, a marketing-Hulk

They will convince our flesh and blood
As they have convinced us
That it is is better to be brand
“I AM MY OWN BRAND”
Than it is to be human
They have convinced us
It is better to define ourselves with a logo- to forget our soul, forget pride and shame
But onwards we go
Glady we advertise- we peddle cheap, placebo shit for the Instagram fame
“I AM BUILDING MY OWN BUSINESS”
We say as we give our loyal customers a 20% discount to a supplement sponsor
As we purchase retweets and answers
We have convinced ourselves it is better to live as a brand,
Than it is to define ourselves, to live on our own values
To live as a man.

 

The Meter Maid

This is the day of the meter maid
Onward you endure, onward underpaid
What you do is completely thankless
No child aspires to clean a public street mess
Not to mention your boss nor the public gives a piss
About you
Onward you endure everyday, with a neon yellow vest
To give high visibility, to a life so blue

“I’ve already started writing the ticket.”
You mumble with a sigh
And prepare yourself for the screaming, swearing, and death threats
Your daily replies
You take it all in
You don’t power trip
You politely say,
“I’m sorry sir.”
And wipe your face of all the spit

You take it all in stride
But you kind of hate your life
You have no room for pride
You need to feed your children
You do it for your wife
So you sleep, rise, and face the day again
Onward you endure, onward underpaid
The simple life of a humble meter maid