Minimalist Free Verse Poems about the Human Condition

Extraction - Process Your Anger about the Human Condition

Extraction

Countless felled by
Machines that cannot –
Will not – be stopped
By ravenous overlords.

The extraction of
The soul through
Bombast, pomp,
Promised happiness.

Unsympathetic ears
Only hear the
Clinking of metal
Upon shining metal.

No life is precious
In this universe of
Cold numbers,
Figures, subterfuge.


 
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Again - Process Your Anger about the Human Condition

Again

He candidly shares
His personal story
Of self-reliance,
Hard work, family values,
Community, (family money).
He wants to change the world by
Reducing the size of the government
And putting power back
Where it belongs:
In the hands of business.

He fires off specious statistics about
How poorly we’re doing and
How much things have declined,
Due to the reactionary policies
He emphatically champions.
His unflinching eyes betray
Not a hint of compassion,
The irony of the colossal joke
He’s animatedly urging people to
Believe in, again.


 
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New Him - Process Your Anger about the Human Condition

New Him

No one could identify the exact
Moment when he turned the corner.
It might have been the death of his
Brother, or an unexpected call
Announcing he was to be a father, or
His hours being cut at the plant.

Regardless, he showed no exterior
Signs of discomfort except for the
Occasional grumpy comment.
He went on as if everything was
Business as usual, the new him
Gradually revealed.


 
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Reverse the Flow - Process Your Anger about the Human Condition

Reverse the Flow

I don’t care when I kill a dream
Unintentionally and do
Everything in my power to
Not think about it much.

I hate when I kill a dream
Unintentionally and do
Everything in my power to
Reverse the flow.

Unravel - Process Your Anger about the Human Condition

Unravel

They say they believe
In self-reliance.

They gladly accept government
Help when they need it.

They vote for candidates
That destroy the services they use.

They present themselves as caring and
Support marginalizing others.

They claim to be patriots
While destroying fellow citizens.

Their lack of internal soundness
Creates suffering for millions.

Without the slightest sense of irony,
They unravel the fabric of society.

Wielding - Process Your Anger about the Human Condition

Wielding

Knocked around as a kid
He has a thing for weapons
And getting into it with others.

He’s always had to toughen up
Even when it seemed weird,
Never made him feel better.

Barely made it through high school,
His career path was set anyway,
Serving up some justice.

Wielding a club that gives him
Power he never had before,
Time to show his stuff.

Her Place - Process Your Anger about the Human Condition

Her Place

She dares speak her mind,
Asking for equality –
A chance to succeed
Unencumbered by antiquated
Notions about what
She can and can’t do.
Upsetting confining structures
Erected by insecure tyrants
Who bristle when their
Dominance is questioned.
A simple plea for fairness
Met with scathing reproach,
Urgent calls for retribution
Because she has the temerity
To ask to be treated with
Dignity and respect rather
Than be relegated to what
They deem her place.

Distinguish - Process Your Anger about the Human Condition

Distinguish

The programs they devour
Have so twisted their
Thinking through
Misdirection,
Misinformation,
Misguided manipulation,
That they are
No longer able to
Distinguish
Fact from fiction,
Make rational choices.

Preposterous - Process Your Anger about the Human Condition

Preposterous

There is no absolute,
Immutable law stating
That employers need to
Take advantage of their
Employees in order to
Make more money.

No one has to become
Wealthy from exploiting
People who have no other
Choice but to work for
A corporation that
Doesn’t care about them.

Owners could as easily
Choose to treat workers with
Dignity and respect,
Pay them a living wage,
Value their humanity,
But that would be preposterous.

Might Have - Process Your Anger about the Human Condition

Might Have

You could have just told me that
You didn’t want to see me any
Longer instead of inviting me to
The party so I could be an
Eyewitness to the horrifying
Spectacle of you greatly enjoying
Someone else’s company.
It might have saved my heart from
Hemorrhaging behind a freakishly
Plastered-on smile and compulsive,
Frail attempts at humor.
Spasming, freshly wounded.

Poetry by Guy Farmer