Poem of the Week: Dead-End Job Blues

Dead-End Job Blues
September 20, 2016

Ever feel like a chameleon with no working camouflage
Whose skin can never simply turn the right shade?
Ever feel like you’ve been gambling every day in your adult life,
Risking it all to finally have everything made?

Well, that’s the way I’ve been for years, and needless to say,
Every deal I’ve made ended with me getting fleeced,
For I’ve followed each new walk of life like a lamb to the slaughter,
And this latest path’s rewarded me the least.

The empty praise is just that: no substance, only style—
Just words I hear from folks just being polite,
For all I really do is what I’m told, which isn’t much,
And I feel so dumb even when I get things right.

It’s not even work that requires logic or creativity,
Which is why my brain hurts every time I come home,
And I can do even better, I bet, if I’d only be left on my own,
But my lords and their protocols won’t leave me alone.

I constantly catch wind, too, of their daily disapproval,
Should I make so much as one small mistake,
And even when something’s not my fault, yet I’m somehow at the scene,
I get blamed and know not how much more I can take.

I should’ve thought twice before I’d signed up for all this,
But I guess at this moment, it’s too little, too late,
And I suppose I need to suck it up and screw my heels in,
No matter how much this situation I hate.

After all, I’m making money from now ‘til I make it big,
Whenever in the future that’ll be.
Wasn’t that the plan I made when I signed that dotted line
Not fully knowing the kind of crap that awaited me?

Maybe it’s just better, then, to keep cool and play it safe
Before my anxiety sends me out the door.
Besides, this work’s for teenagers. How can it be so hard for me—
A man who used to walk college classroom floors?

Then again, this work’s monotonous and not rewarding at all.
The only challenge is preserving my sanity.
Still, I know I must persevere if I wish to see my next check,
No matter how small that final amount might be—

Especially for the countless hours my superiors make me slave
In my designated workspace day after day,
Barely seeing anyone outside of the usual suspects,
Not seeing the sun at all, lest they have their say.

So be it, then! Let them have their way, no matter just how many years
They have me sailing the doldrums of my life.
Let them make me break my back for little dough to compensate
For all my mental and physical pain and strife.

My bullies shan’t have the last laugh once my number’s finally drawn,
And when it is, it’ll all come to an end.
Nothing lasts forever, after all—not even earthly torment,
And when things change, it’ll be for the better, friend.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Bonus Poem of the Week: War Between the Sexes

Hello, readers!

This week, I’d like to submit a poem that I honestly should have written and posted a long time ago. However, seeing as the hostilities covered in today’s poem are still “at large and in charge,” for lack of a better saying, I still hope the message below strikes a chord with all who happen to read it. Feel free to “like” and share it, too, and spread the message around in hopes that the world moves forward from the especially hurtful, childish, and outright asinine way of thinking it details.

Thank you all, and happy reading.

Dustin M. Weber


War Between the Sexes
September 15, 2016

“We men are losing everything to these self-serving chicks—
These petty wannabe Amazons who see all us men as hicks
Who’re out to make them bear our spawn to satisfy the state
And keep them in the kitchen, wherein which they brew their hate.
We used to be the breadwinners—the leaders of our households—
But the masses now scoff at that model and declare it to be ‘old.’
Now women have been taking our jobs and cash, yet still aren’t satisfied
And won’t be ‘til we become subservient and flush our pride.
I don’t know ‘bout you, fellow gents, but I’m sick of being walked on
And treated like I’m worthless by some bitch who claims to be ‘strong.’
We’re men, after all—human beings—and refuse to be treated like crap,
So spare us your flack, husband beaters, and shut your nagging traps.”

“Well, excuse us, whiny man-baby, for wanting independence like you.
Did it ever occur to you and your ilk that we’re people, too?
Your paranoia of us ‘taking over’ is nothing more than that.
Just give us equal representation in the workplace and scat.
In fact, give us better treatment, seeing as you childish farts
Have too often abused your power and have torn this world apart.
You even put down your fellow man just to make sure you stay on top,
Even when you’re terrible at your job and the masses want you to stop.
So much do you market to your own kind it’s enough to make one sick.
We weren’t all, after all, put on Earth to ‘please’ you little pricks.
You know, if the world were matriarchal, we’d all at last be free
From you meat-headed warmonger perverts and all your tyranny.”

“There you go again with your sweeping generalizations, Jezebel.
Why don’t you take your prejudice and leave it with you in Hell?
See, that’s the kind of hatred I’d brought up earlier, dear—
The kind of bitter vindictiveness men like me have come to fear.
Even if we men having been in charge for so long has been a bane,
You needn’t cry victim and return the favor by bringing us pain.
Two wrongs don’t make a right, you know, nor do the double standards you pass
In order to prove your ‘equality’ to us in prestige or class.
You demonize rape and domestic violence, for instance, yet don’t realize
That women, too—believe it or not—have beat up and violated guys,
And if we dare physically defend ourselves, we get vilified
While you stand so finely by and mock us, no one daring to bust your hide.
As far as marketing goes, what about all the times we’ve been dumbed down
To make you look like the ‘smarter’ sex and us all like bumbling clowns?
Call us childish all you want, but we’re not the only ones.
You’re just as immature as we are, you petty daughters of guns.”

“Even if we’re being immature, guess who started it first
With the whole notion of ‘gender superiority’ and who’s better or worse.
For every rape and domestic violence case our kind has invoked,
Your kind has pulled off several more—enough to make us choke.
Blame it, then, on your fellow men for not staying in line
For the rules that play against you when the threads of truth unwind.
As for each marketing scheme that portrays you men as dumb,
You might want to see who’s behind them before you further succumb
To the sweeping generalizations for which you yourselves are to blame.
In fact, who passed them off first in a fit of pride and shame
In an effort to keep their office and the control they’ve attained
Over the whole world, of which many of you I bet hope to retain?
It’s all about power and control for you, we’ve come to learn,
And speaking of wrongs making rights, prepare to get burned,
For our ‘wrong’ would’ve never happened if you’d never made yours first,
And this third wrong from your precious movement is only making things worse.”

“You’re always showing off your bodies, sexualizing yourselves as you please.”
“Hey, it’s your own overactive sex drives bringing you to your knees.”
“Are you saying we’re the only ‘saucy’ ones, Ms. ‘Shades of Gray?’”
“Are you saying we all like that smut? Go back to those games you play!
“You mean the games you never touch ‘cause of their ‘testosterone?’”
“Well, I sure don’t mean that kiddie crap you claim you’ll never own.”
“Fine…but you go back to those books with the plots you’ll never know.”
“And you go back to those dirty movies and all the smut they sow.
“Like you don’t enjoy ogling the physiques of our fellow ‘beasts!’”
“Hey, at least we’re discreet about it and not like you in the least.”

And so do the two sides bicker, both right and wrong in their own ways,
And as much as I’d hate to say it, I doubt we’ll ever see the day
Both sides set aside their differences to help this ailing world
Pull itself back together from all the damage that each boy and girl
In the past has inflicted upon it through any and all misdeeds
He or she has done to support the cause in which he or she believes.
If only there was a peace table at which we all can converse
And explain why it is we feel the way we do before something worse
Than what we’ve all already endured befalls upon us all.
It’s as the saying goes: “United we stand. Divided, we fall.”

Picture courtesy of Whisper.sh

Picture courtesy of Whisper.sh


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Poem of the Week: A Brand New Trade (The Exhausted Job Hunter Poem)

A Brand New Trade (The Exhausted Job Hunter Poem)
September 12, 2016

All I want is to try my hand
At a brand new trade
Following the end
Of my last job, friend,
Hoping to have it made.

Alas, the people in charge have made
Error ‘pon error to the end,
Making me run through loops
And jump through hoops
As I wonder what’s ‘round the bend.

Do I finally get new work in the end,
Or tis this all one bug “Oops?”
‘Cause I’m starting to fret
About what I’ve yet
To do to join this group.

I hope there’s no low to which I must stoop
In order to secure this bet,
‘Cause I’d really hate
To lose out on a great
Chance to grow as a person yet.

I’m crossing my fingers, trying not to fret
And hoping things will turn out great
And that Fate’s fickle hand
Will understand
And places something good on my slate.

If the results, though, I come to hate,
Then it’s back to pounding the land.
Then elsewhere, there’ll be made
Hist’ry where I’ll be paid
By someone who truly understands.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Poem of the Week: Of All Nights

Of All Nights
September 10, 2016

Of all nights for the aerial to die,
The night my show’s on has to be the night.
Thanks a lot, stupid storming summer sky!

Just came home from work, hung my coat to dry,
Sat down to watch some televised delight.
Of all nights for the aerial to die…

Wind, rain, and lightning streaked across the sky,
Clipping branches and power lines one night.
Thanks a lot, stupid storming summer sky!

That was already a while ago. Why
Should that in any way mess up my night?
Of all nights for the aerial to die…

Has the antenna unhinged? Is that why
I can’t watch any TV shows tonight?
Thanks a lot, stupid storming summer sky!

Tomorrow, I guess, to the roof I fly
To see if I can somehow set things right.
Of all nights for the aerial to die…
Thanks a lot, stupid stormy summer sky!


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Bonus Poem of the Week: Movies and Other Media

Movies and Other Media
August 31, 2016

Pretention and unoriginality
Bringing things to the verge of fatality.
Refusal of those in charge to move on
Churning out crap, clueless about what’s wrong,
Feeding the mindless masses with lowbrow dreck,
Which they gobble up, saying, “Hey, what the heck?”
Worse—tasteful, witty stuff often gets ignored
Or dismissed based on genre ‘cause folks got “bored”
While the past is reborn for a cheap, quick buck—
A shell of its former self. What sad, sad luck!
Crass, heartless, empty humor sprinkled throughout
While gratuitous profanity folks shout,
Making the hapless curse in turn like crazy,
Wondering how the big wigs could be so lazy
In making stuff actually worth something,
Leaving today’s youngsters with mostly nothing
To recall fondly from this generation
As the crap continues to sweep the nation
And will keep doing so ‘til someone stands up,
Screws his or heels in and shouts “‘Nough’s enough!”
‘Fore taking things over and making things right
And helping great tales once more be brought to light.
Alas, such a stance takes courage and power,
Which seems not to be the fad of the hour,
Seeing as too many people seem content
With all the time watching thoughtless trash they’ve spent.
Hopefully, things will change, though I cannot say
If we’ll even be alive to see that day.
Would it kill us to at least try? I’d say no.
Can we change things at all? I’d like to say so.
After all, change never comes through inaction,
Nor does sloth in the end grant satisfaction.
Sadly, effort alone won’t bring change about,
For we need, too, someone we can trust to tout
Good work to the masses and show it’s out there
In hopes they’ll wake up and at last start to care.
Problem, though: Such folks are already busy
As things stand hawking filth ‘til we’re all dizzy—
The same kind of filth against which I’ve just railed.
I’d rant some more, but that ship’s already sailed.
Keep your fingers crossed, then, and hope tomorrow
Will see these trends die along with the sorrow
And good tales will be told like they were back when.
Alas, ‘til then, we must still buckle down, friends,
And dedicate ourselves to that day’s great dawn
When talented folks finally right the wrongs
We’ve suffered through for far too long as things stand
In this gluttonous, greedy, grief-stricken land.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Poem of the Week: I Don’t Sub for Sub

Hey, readers!

I usually hate whining, regardless if it’s coming from someone else’s mouth or my own. For this week’s “Poem of the Week,” though, I’ve decided to submit a work based on an annoyance I’ve been having with this blog for the past two to three months that I’ve no doubt has been just as much a problem for so many other WordPress bloggers. It’s more or less an extension to the message of my poem from July 12, which you’re all free to read in the instance that any of you would like more background information on the subject at hand.

Also, for the record, I would like to give a nice big shoutout to each and every one of my subscribers who has stuck around to read my stuff since day one as well as invite you all to keep doing so. Your input, no matter which form it takes—be it subscribing to my blog via WordPress or email, leaving me feedback concerning my work, sharing my blog posts with others, and even buying my books from one of my author pages (See the links below.)—means a lot. Likewise, for those of you out there who also enjoy my material and would like to support what I do any which way you can, feel free to do so, and I will continue to supply you with more material to suit your fancy. Otherwise, the poem below is yours for the reading, and I hope you all can forgive whatever negative tone I give off in it.

Graciously Yours,
Dustin M. Weber


I Don’t Sub for Sub
August 31, 2016

I don’t sub for sub. Such an act is crap.
Either like my stuff or don’t. Don’t just sub
In hopes that I’ll come, fall into your lap,
And worship your own lack of substance, bub.
My computer ain’t my life, after all.
I don’t live on it 24/7.
Great content exists, but I can’t see all
There is beneath the sun up in Heaven.
It’s nothing personal, either…just truth.
Grow a thick skin, then, please, and just move on.
This ain’t Twitter or Tumblr, super sleuth.
This is WordPress. Let’s try to get along.
Like my stuff? Then sub! Don’t like it? Then don’t.
Please take this to heart…though I fear you won’t.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Bonus Poem of the Week: Freedom Call of a Former Comic Book Reader

Freedom Call of a Former Comic Book Reader
August 24, 2016

I just don’t care anymore.
It matters not what’s in store.
I chose to walk away,
After all, one day,
On account of things being a bore.

I don’t care about all the buzz.
The industry ain’t what it was
Once upon a time
When things were sublime,
So please don’t waste my time, cuz.

This new stuff you’re showing me
Ain’t what the old stuff used to be—
Not that it’s that bad
Compared to what I had.
It simply isn’t for me.

The characters in this brand
Range from uninspired and bland
To obnoxious and dumb
To where I succumb
Tearing this issue ‘part with my hands.

These plots, too, are plain asinine,
Written by some uncultured swine
With no love for the lore
This brand once had in store,
Which had once made it a fave of mine.

The heroes I used to root for
Have all been killed off by the score,
Dying left and right,
Never again to fight
Which alone sickens me to the core…

‘Til I se they’ve been replaced by geeks,
Losers, morons, hypocrites, and freaks
Whom I’ll never care about
‘Cause this crap’s gone far south
With the likes of such miserable “tweaks.”

The villains also do nothing
To add any kind of zing
To these boring-ass yarns
Of which I’ve been forewarned,
Which makes me more tempted to fling

This issue into my waste bin,
For that’s the mood I’m now in:
Dejected and betrayed
At the mess that’s been made
Of my once-fave franchise. What a sin!

Then again, you seem to take to
What I’m now calling crap, don’t you?
That’s why you’re still standing
Here while I’m demanding
These shenanigans to be through.

You clearly enjoy this stuff
To the point where you can’t get enough.
That’s why you came to me,
Ain’t it, so I can see
In hopes I wouldn’t be so gruff?

You’d hoped I’d catch on to your mirth
And join in, for all it’s worth,
In everything that which
Leaves you in a stitch,
And yet, here I see no such worth.

I hope, then, you can forgive me
For crying ‘bout how things used to be
And how much they’ve changed
And have been rearranged
Since the days I was as young as thee.

Here, then. Take your comic back
So that at night when you hit the sack,
You’ll have something to
Invest yourself into
While I’m left alone resting on my back.

Let’s face it: My days as a fan
Of the industry are gone, young man.
Like I said, ‘twas my choice,
So who’m I to voice
My disdain like some shell of a man?

I’m glad, then, that there’s someone
Who can garner an iota of fun
From something I don’t,
Whether I’ll try or won’t
‘Fore the fading of Heaven’s hot sun.

To each one’s own, after all,
So there’s no sense in bouncing off walls,
‘Specially since I’ve moved on
Like I’ve said in this song,
Which I guess one could call my freedom call.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com