Bonus Poem of the Week: The Wasted Wisdom of Robert Tepper

The Wasted Wisdom of Robert Tepper

May 16, 2021

“There’s no easy way out…no shortcut home.”
Such is what Robert Tepper says, leastways.
Try saying that, though, where some teachers roam.
They’ll scoff at you and send you on your way.
All kids are the same in their small, dull minds,
And Heaven forbid they get off their rumps
To help those in need—not leave them behind—
And set them back on the right course, the grumps!
Too lazy and dim to do their jobs right,
Too selfish to care ‘bout a future bleak
Or take pride in their work each day and night
And keep kids from feeling like worthless freaks.
That’s what happens when children teach kids, friend.
This “teachers cutting corners” crap must end.

*****

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Bonus Poem of the Week: Dreams of a Half-True Past

Dreams of a Half-True Past
December 19, 2020
 
Empty is my head when I lay it down to rest each night,
Or soon it becomes once sleep at last comes to me just right.
Four to six hours later, foul phantasms dance in my head
And make me bolt out of bed reaching for my nightstand light.
 
Sweat beads ‘pon my brow as I gasp for air and reflect on
The thankfully fake episode that still felt real and wrong,
Playing out a scene too familiar for its own darn good,
For though the places weren’t right, the events weren’t all that wrong—
 
Not in theme, leastways, for too easily my past self’s faults
Played ‘fore my eyes, taunting me with emotions from my vault:
Nerves like twigs, a mind like dough, all too readily controlled
By those around me whom I, a youth, was trained to exalt.
 
Respect, though, these grown children didn’t deserve, for inane
Were their drives in handling those younger than they were, yet tame
Us they tried to with their dull minds, string cheese spines, and stone hearts
To mold us into future adults, which proved quite insane.
 
You don’t put children—especially temp’ramental brats—
In charge of the next generation of grown-ups. That’s that.
Then again, it’s not like my peers were any better as
People—not that childhood’s a good excuse to be a brat,
 
For kids, too, can have strong morals if they’re taught properly.
Alas, many were the punks of my lot to hear and see,
Butting into my business, scolding me for this and that,
And otherwise mocking me for like them I wouldn’t be.
 
Nothing new to you, I’m sure, but even now, it still hurts,
No matter how hard I’ve tried to move on from words so curt,
Disrespectful, and just plain mean, but time and time again,
My dreams keep reminding me of the weak, dumb little squirt
 
I used to be, making me wish all the harder I had
Skin thick enough to cope with such tripe, no matter how bad
Things got, and the brains necessary to avoid it all…
Or, at least, nowadays spare me my memories so sad.
 
On the other hand, had I the brains and spine to stand up
For myself in the first place, then perhaps a sniveling pup
I wouldn’t be today, but a stronger, more confident
Man who’d be able to shrug off the pain and move on up
 
To fulfill his dreams much sooner than I have as yet, friends.
Friends, cash, fame—I’d have it all, and though I might ‘round the bend,
It wouldn’t have taken as long as it has for success
To land in my lap so I can at last laugh in the end.
 
Moral? Simple: Conviction. It’s the key to life success.
Have it when you’re young, for that’s when it will serve you the best
And save you from the heartache of those who’ll try to hurt you,
And even in the future, it’ll save you from much stress.
 
In the meantime, I’ll keep trying to move on with my life,
Hoping one day I’ll at last triumph over all this strife,
And these nightmares that persist will no more, should my say go,
And from then forth, I’ll have, in more ways than one, peaceful nights.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
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Poem of the Week: Grow Up and Do Your Job

Grow Up and Do Your Job
June 21, 2016

Grow up and do your job,
You pathetic, fat-assed slob!
Quit trying to evade
That for which you get paid
And that which ‘fore you has been lobbed.

I care not if the task’s reviled.
You’re just acting like a child
For trying to avoid
That which makes you annoyed
Yet’s still yours to complete all the while.

You’re an adult, for goodness’ sake!
Stop behaving like such a flake
And act your damn age
Like the wizened sage
You’re supposed to be, Ms. Half-Baked.

I don’t see why you’re so scared
Rolling up your sleeves to prepare
To dirty your hands
As per the demands
Of your occupation, Dame Blair.

Where do you get off dodging these,
Your responsibilities,
Anyways? ‘Cause you
Know it’s all too true
That you can’t always do as you please.

We all have jobs we must do
On this rock ‘til our lives are through,
And if you won’t do yours,
I know folks by the score
Who’ll gladly take them over from you

And do your job ten times better
Than a whiny, self-entitled fretter
Like you ever would
Or even could
While you sit at home knitting sweaters,

And when you’re all alone at home
With one dime left to call your own,
Relying on your kids
To keep you off the skids,
You’ll sit often ‘nough all alone

To ponder where your life went wrong,
And you’ll think back to this song,
And you’ll curse the day
You gave your spine away
And your boss made you say so long,

And as you sit there and weep
Every night ‘til you fall asleep
Feeling sorry for yourself,
A lone book upon a shelf,
It’ll at long last hit you deep:

It never pays one to shirk
Whenever it comes to one’s work,
For it will come to pass
When you take in the ass
The pain, you insensitive jerk,

For only the diligent reap
Reward for their work, which they keep
While the spineless and lazy
Are punished like crazy
In the end before the Big Sleep,

So you’d better grow up right away
And care ‘bout your tasks today
Before karma hits you
And leaves you oh so screwed,
Left to naught but wallow one day,

For prosperity never goes
To those who bring naught but woe
To others day and night
Out of petty spite
Towards their duties. Trust me, I know.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
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Poem of the Week: Junior High Memories, Twenty Years Later

Hello, readers!

For this week’s “Poem of the Week,” I’ve decided to post yet another poem concerning school day memories and how painful they can be for some people. After all, while there are folks out there who’ve managed to enjoy the time they’ve spent in junior high and high school, the fact remains that adolescence doesn’t treat everyone kindly. In fact, even in today’s social climate, our growing collective awareness considering countless youth issues—from bullying and peer pressure to drugs and premarital sex to the spineless, clueless, and oftentimes outright soulless nature of certain teachers and other faculty members towards students—isn’t enough to prevent young people from going through growing pains. What’s worse is how such emotional distress often enough continues haunts those who endure it well after their younger years are over as painful adolescent memories that only enhance whatever anxiety, depression, and lack of self-worth such individuals experience throughout their lives.

Hopefully in this upcoming school year, teachers and other faculty members will do everything in their power to accommodate students and see to it that they don’t endure the same kind of anguish that other students have in years past. After all, today’s social order—American society in particular—needs all of the productive, well-grounded, high-functioning, and mentally and emotionally stable people it can get, and we’ve seen in the past just what can happen when school officials, parents, and anyone else in a position to help young people come to grips with the cold, harsh realities of the world fail to do just that. Without further ado, then, here’s Junior High Moments, Twenty Years Later.

*****

Junior High Memories, Twenty Years Later
August 14, 2014

Adolescence sure works in messed-up ways.
It sure did for me when I was of age.
I’m glad I don’t have to relive those days.

When my childhood forever went away,
I should have prepared for a darker age.
Adolescence sure works in messed-up ways.

People treated me like crap day by day
Just ‘cause they and I weren’t on the same page.
I’m glad I don’t have to relive those days.

Plus, good grades didn’t always come my way,
Despite the smarts I still had at that age.
Adolescence sure works in messed-up ways.

Worse yet’s how I don’t get, even today,
Why then had to be such a painful age.
I’m glad I don’t have to relive those days.

Was some twisted conspiracy at play,
Keeping me from turning to that next page?
Adolescence sure works in messed-up ways.
I’m glad I don’t have to relive those days.

*****

And there you have it folks—another poem dedicated to trials and tribulations of the average American teenager. Thank you all once again for stopping by to read what I have to say about this issue, and by all means, feel free to search this blog for other poems about topics similar to this one. Don’t be afraid, either, to visit my author pages at Smashwords.com, Amazon.com, and Amazon.co.uk to see what books I have available on the market at the moment, and in future posts, I hope to have some positive news to share concerning my latest project, The Kingdom of Somnia. In the meantime, however, here’s to a happy and successful school year for 2014-15, and until we meet again, happy reading!

Regards,
Dustin M. Weber

Poem of the Week: After the Fall

Hello, readers!

For this week’s “Poem of the Week,” I’ve composed a good old-fashioned Shakespearean sonnet about a grown man who—even decades after having graduated middle school, high school, and college—still finds himself having to come to grips with all the bullying he’s had to endure from both school faculty and his fellow students. Without further ado, then, here’s After the Fall. Please enjoy!

*****

After the Fall
July 26, 2014

Trying to move on, yet still can’t let go
From the visions of what I used to know.
Many years it’s been, yet it still hurts so.
Oh, what I’d give to fin’lly purge this woe!
All the teasing, the name-calling, the pranks—
All ‘cause I was not like any other.
Even now, life sucks, and I’ve “them” to thank
While I wonder how I might recover.
To think, too, that once, I was quite content
With all the gifts any kid could ask for,
Yet I look back now at how much I’ve spent
Living life like doing so was a chore.
Worse yet, I can’t go back to fix it all.
Such is how my life’s been after the fall.

*****

Well, that’s that for this week. Thank you all again for stopping by and reading my stuff. Before I go, though, I just want to remind everyone that even though the topic of bullying has been pounded and pounded into the mainstream consciousness for a good number of years now, we must never forget that it’s up to everyone to keep bullies in check. After all, the bullying scene back when I was growing up was, for lack of a less hyperbolic term, an utter nightmare for kids my age to have to cope with, and I’ve had many a classmate who was a complete asshole towards others for no reason at all and would not let up picking on others until someone finally had the brains and the backbone to put the creep in his or her place. I’ve also known a good number of bullies, student and teacher alike, who’ve actually gotten away with pulling the stunts they have because the people in charge were too cowardly, ignorant, or otherwise neglectful to put a stop to their childish, demeaning behavior. Hopefully, the people in this latter group have finally either a) grown up and have remorse for their obnoxious and hurtful behavior or b) received their just desserts for their deeds. Likewise, here’s hoping that those of you out there who have ever been bullied yourselves, even if not necessarily in school, have been able to come to terms with the unfair treatment you’ve been handed and are happier and more productive on account of your successful healing processes.

All preaching aside, I encourage you as always to visit my author pages at Smashwords.com, Amazon.com, and Amazon.co.uk and to check out any and all other poems I’ve written concerning bullying, including my most recent entry in the unofficial series, When Teachers Are the Bullies. Until then, folks, happy reading!

Regards,
Dustin M. Weber