Bonus Poem of the Week: The Frustrated Working Stiff

The Frustrated Working Stiff
October 18, 2016

Nag, nag, nag—that’s all I ever hear:
“Do this!” Don’t do that!” “Hey, you! Over here!”
All the while, I’m just trying to do my doggone job,
Yet everyone’s on my back like I’m some dumb slob
Who can’t think for himself when truth is, I have a brain.
It’s just getting overloaded ‘til I’m nearly insane
With the voices in my head telling me I’m not worth crap.
Geez, I should’ve known this was all just one big trap!
Then again, I needed money, and this was the surest bet,
And it seemed easy enough to learn and do, and yet,
It’s all so micromanaged that no matter what I do,
No matter how closely I pay attention, I’m screwed.
In fact, there have been crises for which I was not at fault,
Yet in my activity at the time, I was brought to a halt
And lectured like some high school hellion for that which
I wasn’t responsible in the least bit. What a bitch!
If I was only treated with some respect, this whole scene
Wouldn’t leave me so frustrated, and no, I don’t mean
That people should have to coddle me and treat me with kit gloves.
I’m a grownup, after all, and thus don’t need that kind of love.
All I ask is that I be treated like the adult I happen to be
And not like some stupid miscreant. Is that too much of me
To ask? Because if it is, I’ll kindly hit the bricks
And look elsewhere to earn my dough ‘cause I just don’t need this
Garbage thrown in my face constantly day by day,
And I know I can make it elsewhere if I can just find the way
That’ll lead me to where I can at last earn a decent keep
Without the threat of always landing in trouble deep,
Good riddance, then, assholes! Consider this my last day.
I’m not living up to my potential here anyway.
This never was my dream job—just one I happened to need—
And I didn’t come here to suffer for your sake and bleed.
Will I ever land my dream job? I certainly hope so,
But at the rate I’ve been going, I doubt I’ll ever know.
The sooner I leave this place, though, the sooner I’ll find out,
So get out of my way, please, before I more loudly shout.


Author Pages:

Poem of the Week: Anti-Generation Labeling Poem

Anti-Generation Labeling Poem
October 14, 2016

“Generations” are a joke
That I wish would go up in smoke—
Just shadows and shade
Artificially made
By scheming marketing blokes

For the purpose of selling their stuff
‘Cause age groups clearly just weren’t enough
To whom to hawk their wares
So they can earn their shares.
Now they’ve group names to make things less tough—

Names like the “Silent Generation,”
Saviors from communist invasion,
Then the “Baby Boomers,”
Those population bloomers
Whose births caused such a sensation

That conceived the notion for the name
And started this whole foolish game.
After them, who came next
But “Generation X,”
A title so “x-treme,” it’s plain—

So lame that it proved how much this trend
Was already getting, friends.
Then nineteen years away
From “Y2K,”
The “Millennials” came ‘round the bend.

’97 on…who the hell knows
Just what name the marketing schmoes
Will slap on those poor kids
Or what’s stacked on their skids
To sell them? ‘Cause that’s just how things go,

And not just economically,
But sadly also socially,
And with each generation
Living in this damned nation,
Crap gets worse, as one can plainly see,

For when young adulthood comes around
To such a group, society frowns
Down on them for their flaws
And considers no pause
In running them into the ground,

Accusing them of nothing less
Than absolute selfishness,
Prone to narcissism
And materialism,
Putting their patience to the test

Further with claims that they don’t care
‘Bout how anyone else but them fares
At work, home, or school,
The rude, snarky fools,
Putting in no effort anywhere!

Apparently, it’s all ‘bout their toys,
Those self-absorbed girls and boys,
Who’ve been handed it all,
Be each prize big or small,
So long as it brings them joy.

Then there’s how they tend to whine
When they don’t get their chance to shine—
Mainly ‘cause they’re, folks say,
Lazy pains in the A
Who refuse to put in any time

To achieve anything from life,
So they sit on their haunches and gripe
‘Bout how life’s too tough
As they beg for stuff
And rant on ‘bout their personal strife.

‘Tis a tradition mean in spirit,
And each age group is forced to hear it,
Whether they deserve to
Or it’s just one big poo
By the system as we’ve come to fear it,

And from one generation on,
Each has come to sing the same song,
Bemoaning the nation’s fate
And showering hate
‘Pon the young, even when they’re dead wrong.

The “Silent Generation” was first
To have their elders scorn them and worse
For being “lost,”
Which, in turn, cost
Them the quality of their verse

When the mocked stood fast ‘gainst their attacks
And with keen minds, bold hearts, and strong backs
Pushed forth and made their way
To conquer the day,
Proving wrong the naysaying pack.

The “Baby Boomers” came next,
Followed by “Generation X,”
And both, too, rose above
The sheer lack of love
Of their critics, leaving them vexed.

Now, though, the “Millennials” are
The ones being bashed wide and far
By generations before
For being “weird” and more
In spite of what likenesses are

Shared ‘tween them and, furthermore,
The challenges that’ve been in store
And still exist today
For them in many ways
That hinder their plight all the more

To rise ‘bove discrimination,
As had prior generations,
But the elders only see
Needy mooches too lazy
To earn themselves any salvation,

Having forgotten their own plight
When they were that age one night
And the sneering doubt
They felt in and out
‘Til the day they squared up to fight

To prove that they did have the gall
To come to terms with it all
And prove worthy of
Their elders’ love
As they answered adulthood’s call,

And here we are ages in the wake
Of these eras. Now it’s time to take
A stand, “Millennials,”
To shut up the lulz
And show you, too, have what it takes.

Rise above the stereotypes
That paint via your elders’ gripes.
Prove that you can work hard
No matter how hard
Each roadblock ‘fore you is to wipe.

Stand tall and let your spine and brain
Aid you in your pursuit to gain
The prestige and power
You seek at this hour
While your thickened skin shrugs off the pain.

Put to use every tool you can find
To score you the piece of mind
You need to make your mark
In these times oh so dark
And leave everyone’s flack well behind,

For you know that you’ve deep within
The grit that can help you win.
All you need is to shout
To let it all out,
“In your face, doubters! I’m gonna win!”

Then you make the most of what you’ve got
And show all that you’re not just some sot
Who just sits on your rump
Crying on ‘bout the dump
Where your toys take up every slot.

Then, as it all comes to an end,
I’ll bet you that ‘round the bend,
The glory you seek
Will be but a few feet
From where your feet shall be standing, friends.

After all, such was what the fate
Of your parents and grandparents, mates,
No matter how much
They’ll rant, rave, and such
‘Bout how they had it ‘fore they were great,

For no matter how different we are,
We’ve more similarities by far
Than we all realize
‘Cause we’re all gals and guys
Walking under heaven’s countless stars,

And when cut down to basic stuff,
All our lives have moments so tough
They become do or die,
And we either fly
Or squirm like worms ‘neath the rough,

Proving this whole “generations” bull
Just a waste of time we must annul,
Yet we still buy the hype
Of the stereotype
Of the lazy, whiny brat, thick in skull,

Which we all use to illustrate
Young folks just ‘cause we can’t relate
To them, or so we claim,
So we keep shoving blame
Onto them for things being not so great,

Even though once upon a time,
Our elders committed that same crime
‘Gainst us, as per the way,
Thus making us pay.
Knowing that, don’t you think it’s time

To put an end to this tradition
And all this petty attrition
Founded on made-up hate
T’wards whom we can relate
And can teach to form the right volition?

‘Tis an act that makes little sense
In the grand scheme. Hence, let’s dispense
Wisdom rather than scorn
Eve, afternoon, and morn
So we can see this world heal hence.

This blind bickering, after all,
Hasn’t helped us evade any fall,
So let’s knock it off now
‘Fore we falter—and how!—
And let the healing no longer stall,

For we’ve but one life guaranteed.
Let’s spend it helping those in need
So we all can move on
And sing happy songs
And Mother Earth ceases to bleed.


Author Pages:

Poem of the Week: No Handouts. Just Respect. (Generation Gap part II)

DISCLAIMER: The following poem is dedicated to everyone, regardless of whichever generation he or she has been born into, who is willing to overlook the superficial differences between his or her age group and those of the rest of the world and work with others, young and old alike, to help make the world a happier, healthier, safer, and overall better place within which to live. As such, no offense is meant towards any reader middle-aged or older who doesn’t hold a contemptuous attitude towards today’s young people, regardless of what flaws the more visible and audible members of said age group(s) have demonstrated over recent years. That being said, if I receive any sort of request to compose and post a poem directed towards today’s youth, chances are that I will fulfill such a request. That being said, please enjoy the composition below and feel free to share with whomever you believe will get anything out of what I’ve written.

Thank you.

Dustin M. Weber


No Handouts. Just Respect. (Generation Gap part II)
October 12, 2016

So here we go again, middle-agers and old timers, with this game,
Making fun of and insulting the younger generation
‘Cause our case was never like theirs. How narrow-minded, inane,
Narcissistic, childish, and petty of you “grown-ups” of the nation!

Yes…forget about looking beyond the superficial
Differences between us and them. Let’s just blindly attack
Today’s youth for whatever ignorance they possess. How judicial!
Seriously, though, no it isn’t, so stop being such two-faced hacks.

Stop playing the same belligerent game that the generations before
Yours did with you when you were young two to four decades ago.
Learn from your elders’ errors and stop being such self-centered bores.
Stop feeding off your own jadedness, and instead, try letting it go.

Stop whining and crying like you did with the “mess” your parents left you
Rather than simply screwing in your heels and cleaning it up
And showing the grit that would’ve earned you the glory you would’ve been due.
No…instead, you curled up in the corner like beaten pups

And whimpered and sniveled while your siblings got up and busted their asses
And tried to set things right for everyone, themselves included.
They didn’t waste time with arbitrarily assigned age groups and classes
Designed by marketers to sell their goods to those whom they’ve secluded,

Nor are your siblings crying foul over not getting what they deserve
For all the work they’ve put into helping society survive
In the wake of you indulging in your own sick vices, you pervs!
Yeah, thanks for keeping innuendo and crude language alive!

To think, too, that you solely blame the youngsters for their values,
Clearly blind to what you’ve been feeding them for a decade-plus now!
Can’t you see that it’s not them alone for our future being “screwed”—
That you, too, have played a part in its corruption? And how!

But no! You just blow it off like it’s not your problem anymore,
Regardless of how you’ve contributed to the problem at hand
And have failed to help your siblings right the wrongs that remain in store
For generations to come all ‘cause you’re too lazy to stand

And fight for a better future, even one from which you’ll be gone,
Free from the miscreants you claim are messing things up today.
Yes, such sickos indeed exist, but all amongst the young? No! Wrong!
Alas, I know you’ll just take the easy way out and say so anyway.

I’ve become so used to such flippancy from your kind for so long that I
Wonder why I even bother expecting you to act your ages.
After all, if the stereotypes that colored your generation were lies
That gave you a nasty reputation that has lasted through the ages,

Then what about those that likewise color the young people of today?
Aren’t they, too, exaggerations to a perceivable degree?
Aren’t there young people out there who’ve been working hard day after day
To overcome the personification you so all too often see?

Don’t you see young people contributing to society positively
And proving that they care about more than just their own wants and needs,
Battling the obstacles before them the way kids like you and me
Tried doing so back in our day, no matter how much they’d sweat and bleed?

Don’t you see them trying to shake off the vile stigma folks like you
Have smeared onto their generation like curdling butter on toast,
Regardless of their more recognized kindred who far too often poke through
And bare their faults for the world to see with little to nothing to boast?

There’s never just one side to any tale, which you should know well by this time,
What with the vicious pattern to which you’ve succumbed that you’ve come to repeat—
A carrying-on of a twisted tradition that’s proven tragic, pals of mine,
All ‘cause your kind’s taken the easy route, not the proper one, hence the defeat

Of society as we know it. Way to cave in to self-righteousness!
Way to ignore the problems that don’t directly affect you, sirs and ma’ams!
You could’ve been working with today’s youth to help them rise above the stress
And help them better carry things on for ages to come down the line. Hams!

Alas, you’ve made them all pariahs—a rule for which you’ve made no exception—
Insisting they’re all demanding handouts when all they really need are
The tools they need to overcome all that stands ‘tween them and resurrection
For a social structure that’s still in shambles and hence still bears quite a scar.

Quit writing them off as whiners, then, for I’m sure whining’s what you’d do
If you were faced with the odds today’s youth have been up against for so long.
Don’t write them all off as beggars, either, just ‘cause their kindred tend to.
That’s naught but a stereotype, and as you should know, such labels can be wrong.

If the stereotypes for your generations have been proven wrong time and again,
Then so can that which you’ve painted today’s youth with, so why not set aside
The hate and mistrust you have for them and work together with them, friends,
So that we all can rise from the ashes of a world that we’ve all thought has died?

Everyone has his or her baggage. Everyone bears a cross.
Everyone matters in the world’s grand scheme—more than we’ll every know,
And this segregation we’ve put on ourselves has only put us at a loss,
And if we don’t even try to overcome this absurdity, we’re at a loss.

It’s time to cut the crap, then, and move on together as one—
Beyond the superficiality to which we’ve all succumbed.
It’s time we all worked together beneath Heaven’s burning sun
And put an end to all our problems and not rest ‘til the job’s done.

To Hell with the notion of “handouts,” then, and all who ask for them!
Let’s instead show some respect to those who are willing to roll up their sleeves
And do their part in fixing and inheriting the world that awaits them
So that it’ll be strong by the time the old amongst us must leave.


Author Pages:

Bonus Poem of the Week: Knock It Off, Minooka!

Knock It Off, Minooka!
October 7, 2016

Knock it off, Minooka! Your calls are driving me mad.
This is the worst case of harassment in a while that I’ve had.
You’ve called us nine times already in two-and-a-half weeks.
I can’t escape you no matter what, and it’s given me the creeps.

Knock it off, Minooka! You’re flat-out annoying me.
You call me up to thrice a day. Why can’t you let me be?
You say you collect for a number of different charities?
Well, I’d rather donate to them directly if you’d let me, please.

Knock it odd, Minooka! You’re really ticking me off.
You say you’re on the up-and-up? Please! Don’t make me scoff.
I bet you keep the lion’s share of the cash donated to you
And give but ten percent to the charities you’re connected to.

Knock it off, Minooka! You’re driving me insane.
You know I’m not falling for your tricks or playing your sick game,
So why do you keep calling me? Really, stop wasting your time
And being so inconsiderate, ‘cause you’re also wasting mine.

Knock it off, Minooka! Pay attention and get the gist.
I don’t care if callers like you are exempt from the DNC list.
I still feel like you’re stalking me for my life, so please let it go.
Stop calling me and get it through your skulls that “No” means “No!”


Author Pages:

Poem of the Week: The Obsessors

The Obsessors
October 5, 2016

Spineless, whiny brats living in the past
Will not wake to see tomorrow at all,
Lest it’s to make bitter memories last
For the rest of us trying to stand tall
In the wake of history foul and sad
That refuses to stay history ‘cause
These fools live to forever make us mad,
Never once taking a moment to pause,
Let the obvious be, and further more
Learn a lesson or two from the affair
‘Pon which to think for many years and more.
Only then will they at last start to care.
Stop milking the past! We’ve all heard enough.
No more will we pay for your childish stuff.


Author Pages:

Bonus Poem of the Week: A Villanelle on 21st Century Journalism

A Villanelle on 21st Century Journalism
September 29, 2016

Grow up and do your job, you pompous ass!
You’re supposed to be objective, you know.
Cut the crap for once and show us some class.

Just what do you get from being so crass,
Shooting off your mouth and acting macho?
Grow up and do your job, you pompous ass!

We came to read the news, not cope with sass
From some snide narcissist with steam to blow.
Cut the crap for once and show us some class.

Spare us your pretention and let it pass.
Condescension’s never in style, you know.
Grow up and do your job, you pompous ass!

Quit shoving your agenda up my ass
And knock off the personal attacks, schmoe.
Cut the crap for once and show us some class.

Professionalism’s run out of gas
When it comes to keeping folks in the know.
Grow up and do your job, you pompous ass!
Cut the crap for once and show us some class.


Author Pages:

Poem of the Week: Beggars Can’t Be Choosers

Beggars Can’t Be Choosers
September 26, 2016

They say beggars can’t be choosers, and sadly, I can’t debate,
For time and again, I’ve been in spots that I’ve come to hate—
Relationships I’ve walked out on, jobs I’ve quit in a blink—
All because I could feel the proverbial ship start to sink.
It’s a nightmare that I know too well time and time again,
And it doesn’t get better at all each night I endure it, friend.
In fact, the last of tribulations I’d gone through made me sick—
Literally, too, for even now, my nose keeps going drip, drip, drip,
And this headache I’ve got is still killing me, I can’t deny,
And hackhack-hacking on my own phlegm’s been making me want to die.
I can only imagine, though, just how much sicker I’d surely get
If I’d stuck around any longer and tried to make a sure bet
Out of the situation I’d been in that made me so bloody ill
At a time when I’m usually resilient to all but the foulest swill.
Thankfully, I’ll never find out, for I got out of things quickly,
And my family’s even more thankful that I didn’t get more sickly.
Still, I’m left to wonder how things would’ve turned out otherwise,
Had I stuck with my main plan and not let myself be cut down to size
By the circumstances I suffered in the setting I was in at the time.
Would I’ve come to resent sticking ‘round, or would things have worked out sublime?
I guess I’ll never know either way, seeing as I’ve long since gone
Forever to wonder exactly what it was I had done wrong
To not make my situation work, perhaps even for years.
Then again, sticking around may have more likely brewed other fears—
Fears that may have proven worse than what I’ve already endured,
Such as a deadening of my soul from wounds too deep to be cured
And a satisfaction with mediocrity that none should feel.
Thankfully, that’s not what turned up when I dared to spin Fate’s wheel.
The moral, then, I suppose one could say, is always keep your wits
And know what’s good for you and when your situation’s become the pits
And weigh your pros and cons carefully when you’re stuck knowing not what to do
Before the latter all come pouring down and flush your soul straight out of you.
Beggars can’t be choosers, after all, as the saying goes,
And before you find yourself trapped between anxiety and woe,
Know your options and what to expect , should you go one way or another,
For in the end, it’s one of at least two outcomes, sisters and brothers.


Author Pages: