The Tedious Business of Conforming

These kids today require far too much attention
They want to think all on their own
These stranger shapes will call for radical dimensions
It seems that something should be done

What will they do if we allow them to continue
What kind of chaos will they cause
We’ve got these molds that they just are not fitting into
They ought to look a bit like us

These kids today create a tedious disruption
So many wrinkles we must iron
We’ve not approved the parts they use in their construction
We have some diagrams to burn

What will we do if they continue alterations
How will the future world survive
We have the clues and all the blueprints for perfection
We just can’t seem to stay alive…


47 responses to “The Tedious Business of Conforming

  1. every new generation decries the waste and non conformity of the previous one… and vice-versa, our blue prints always seem faulty somehow, but as we stagger on, we can only hope… You get the message across VW, very well indeed… xPenx

    • The girl with the black and blue hat

      I saw her from my cage
      I saw her from behind the bars
      Her smile melted my rage
      She understood my scars

      I tried to speak but when they saw
      They taped my mouth closed
      They took her when she began to to move get jaw
      Unknowingly exposed

      I wanted to loosen my chains
      I wanted to see her again
      I remembered her from another life, one with far less pains
      Seeing her go a second time made the tears drip from my chin

      They threw the beauty in a cell
      They chained the angel down
      I felt terrible that it was my fault they put her in this hell
      I wished that I could drown

      Across from my cell they moved her today
      And now I can see love in her eyes
      A deeper connection showed on her face
      She was melting my heart of ice

      They came to my cell to say they were moving me
      They left me standing close to her
      She grabbed my arm, and I felt free
      I grabbed hers back, it was the most love I’d felt since my life became a blur

      But they noticed and they pulled at our arms
      But holding on tight wasn’t enough
      And more of them came as I heard sounds of alarms
      They threatened her life and I had to let go as they treated me rough

      As they pulled us apart
      I felt my heart rip in two
      Feeling angry, I know I’ll never be the same
      My blood pumped cold, as my lips turned blue

      They set her deservingly free
      And locked me away again
      I may be blind, but in my heart I can see
      That we will always have an unbreakable connection

  2. the generations move on and they see their own way as we try to drum ours into them but life changes every second as we slowly slip into old age xxjen

      • Probably mostly that it’s yours. I have never really been good at understanding poetry, but the first time I read yours it opened my eyes and my heart. It’s beautiful. I can relate well.. I can see me in your poetry. i love it. There are days that it keeps me going. Keeps me alive. It gives me hope, or maybe somewhat of a metaphorical shoulder to cry on.

      • Awwww thank you. Sometimes I don’t understand my own poetry. Some days I reread this blog and I hate what I write lol. Some days I think “what was I thinking writing a poem like that?” I really don’t know much at all about poetry in a technical sense, it is just my expression, so I am very thankful it can translate to you and you enjoy it πŸ™‚

      • I’m sure anyone that reads mine wants to be sick because it usually is terrible in a poetic sense. But I usually can at least convey to you how I feel about whatever it is making me write.

      • More???? lol πŸ˜› I posted twice as many today as yesterday πŸ˜‰ I will see what I can do. I have enough to post I just don’t want to spend them all at once in case I have a day with no inspiration πŸ™‚

      • Having extra isn’t really an issue…it’s convincing myself I like them well enough to post them lol πŸ˜‰

        I rarely post a poem the same day I write it. I generally have to stare at it for a while and talk myself into posting it. Usually it takes me 24 hours or so to decide to post something. It gives me time to spell-check it, revise it, and make it “finished”. I have quite a few partials or finished but unsatisfactory poems. I would say I post, on average, 1 in 4 or 5 poems I write. There are some good reasons I don’t post the others πŸ˜‰

      • Well something tells me that I would love one that is raw.. something that tells me what you’re thinking right now. At this moment. πŸ˜€

      • As I sit and watch the snow
        I wonder is it even possible to know
        Is it right or is it wrong
        Why do we suffer this long?

        Love is perfect but humans err
        And as I have learned life is not fair
        But as I seek patienceΒ 
        I long for a perfect peace

        Am I lost? Am I confused?
        Idk I think I am insane
        But I want love a perfect pure love
        Coming from meΒ 

      • Wow, Lydia, that was beautiful. Thank you so much. Insightful and so heartfelt. I will be rereading that one of course. I love it. Thank you. ❀

      • Here is one I could never decide if I should post or not:

        Nomad cotton candy clouds
        In the waning light of afternoon
        Migrate over distant lands
        I can almost touch them with my hands

        Picket fence on a southern stretch
        Background peaks painted baby blue
        Hold their place as they always do
        Underneath a cloak of the coming dew

        And my thoughts get lost
        Like the clouds I watch
        We should all have love
        We should all have fall

        As the day is long
        And the sky is tall
        We should all have love
        We should all have fall

      • I understand that, Lydia. Life can be terribly silly. There are some days that I feel as if I’m close to answers, but something sets me back or moves the answers further from me. I hate to admit, but I’ve had a terrible temper lately when that happens. It’s probably just about the only thing that can throw me into a fit of rage. Being angry is something I haven’t really dealt with in a long while, but the last several months it has been dreadful.

  3. Firstly I have been away so I am sorry for not replying before. I love the poem, it is just what our parents thought of us, and their parents thought of them. It will be exactly what they will think of their children too. Life is always circular nothing is new. As for the poem about Nomad Cotton clouds, I do think it is absolutely beautiful as I all your poems Thank you for writing and sharing . xx

    • I’m glad to have you back πŸ™‚

      Yes, each generation seems to resent how it is criticized by the one before, but we seem to return the favor to our children. It is an art to know and embrace your own generation, and appreciate the one to come as well. We are changing the world, one generation at a time. None of us have all the answers, but together we have more answers than any one generation could have alone πŸ™‚

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