Penelope's Trick: poems

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

If (Two Versions)

Version 1 (by Rudyard Kipling)

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

Version 2 (by an unknown author)

If you can start the day without caffeine,
If you can get going without pep pills,
If you can always be cheerful, ignoring aches and pains,
If you can resist complaining and boring people with your troubles,
If you can eat the same food every day and be grateful for it,
If you can understand when your loved ones are too busy to give you any time,
If you can take criticism and blame without resentment,
If you can resist treating a rich friend better than a poor friend,
If you can conquer tension without medical help,
If you can relax without liquor,
If you can sleep without the aid of drugs,

…Then You Are Probably The Family Dog!

Friday, July 3, 2009

Damion Hamilton's Poems

Trapped

Walking into the human traps
And the traps are all around
The military, the trap of school
The trap of women
The trap of a job or a career
The traps are omnipresent
The boys and girls are out there
Selling you things that you do not need
Credit cards, cars, mouth wash
Cheeseburgers, cigarettes
All around traps
With smiling faces and kick your ass strides
So many traps
One can't help but to walk into them
The trap of hard work, the trap of a good time
So many traps
One can't smell or hear the dogs
Like a fox
So we are not nearly as cleaver
And the fox holes are too small to hide in anyway
And one knows why men become hermits
And live in remote locations away from people
And those dangerous smiling faces
Those faces put one into debt
Those faces send you off to the battlefields of the world
Those faces put you in jail
Those faces will have you married with a job
For life
Those faces sell and sell and sell
As one sees the billboards on corners of everywhere
And remembers Sartre's words,
"Hell is other people."

The Wound

It could come from a bad childhood
Or bad parents, or growing up in the wrong neighborhood,
Or it could come from going to the wrong schools,
It could be caused by, being punched too much,
Or teased too often, but it’s there
As we follow after wrong ideals and mishap theories
Always the wound and the dull flashing of yesterday
As we try to move on
But the damn wound won’t let us forget;
It’s image so poignant, so poignant
And we must forget, and try to forget
As most people try to forget, but I can’t and know
Others who can not forget either
Those pale wounds, still hurting slightly
If you put a finger or palm over them
So many of our wounds threading through
The order and chaos of our lives
Those wounds write books
Those wounds create paintings
Those wounds write music
Those wounds get up in the mornings
Those wounds type at computers all day long
Those wounds drive busses
Those wounds work on the Ford assembly line
Those wounds drive cars
Those wounds must prepare dinner
Those wounds must try to fall asleep at night
Those wounds must move on
The wounds
The wounds
The wounds

Faking it

In the world you have
To fake it,
To be social,
To work with the others
You have to fake it
Put on a false smile
When you don’t want to
In this world, working
Towards a common goal
You have to be good natured
When you don’t want to be
And would rather be somewhere else
Instead of smiling and laughing
With the others—
That’s how people earn a living,
How the world makes a living,
Were morality comes from,
It’s how the business man does it
And the shop owners too,
In business you can be truthful,
Show your true emotions,
When you make a living,
How terrible it would be
If people did what they wanted
At work, and said what wanted to
Nothing would ever get done,
In this world, you have to fake it