Rough Cuts (Unpolished, unpublished poem ...

Rough Cuts (Unpolished, unpublished poems #722B)

Jul 10, 2022

While there is no theme to this week's Rough Cuts, they do share a similar voice though one is more of an invitation to go within, while the other is very much a wake-up call to consider the world around us. In each case, I am unapologetically harsh. If these make it to the book with this tone intact, it will add nuance and texture to the collection, though admittedly at the risk of offending some readers. And I haven't even gotten pissed yet! ;)

Speaking of possibly offending readers, I have also decided to change the title of the collection. It will now be called Declaration, with the title poem being a sort of rewriting of the Declaration of Independence. I will not be posting that here; it will remain unseen until the book is published.

As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated. Have a fantastic week!


Photo: Keegan Houser


For once in your miserable life,

would you please just shut the hell up

and listen?

Could you shut off that damn screen,

stop being so desperate

for attention, validation, love,

and just listen?



Silence won't hurt you.


until you hear that small voice

you once knew so well,

so long ago now, you can't even remember;

that small voice, now barely audible

over your self-pity

and the pathetic reverberating roars

of desperate and dying lions;

that small voice, now barely audible

from beneath the ancient layers

of lies and deception

so insidious and ubiquitous,

they're in our blood, our bones, our beliefs.


That small voice isn't offering words of wisdom;

it is wisdom and truth itself.

That small voice won't tell you how to find love,

but will remind you that you are love itself.

That small voice isn't even yours;

it is you.

So for God's sake, shut up

and listen.


Copyright 2022 by M. E. Forbes.


Photo: Rob Potter


You must look deliberately, diligently.

It takes conscientious and persistent effort to find us,

the outcasts, displaced shadow-dwellers

rummaging the ridiculous,

foraging for truth.


You may find us frozen mid-stride, Pointers

keenly listening past the rhetoric and propaganda,

panning for truth in the sewers.

Relics of a lost age, we are old enough

to remember what's been stolen,

what we deserve,

our birthright;

we're old enough

to think, question, dare to demand better.

We're too old and too few to fight,

but still smart enough to be dangerous,

because we know too much

to believe, buy the bullshit,

drink the same old hogwash-flavored Kruel-Aid

in the new package

peddled by a parade of polished puppets,

elected and unofficial liars and thieves,

lost souls who've sold their souls.

For what?

For what they will never get enough of and will do no good with.


The zombie apocalypse is real,

so you won't find us on the corner anymore.

We're done trying to say your dumb ass.

You must look hard to find us now,

and pay close attention if you still can,

to what we say,

and even more so

to what we can't.


Copyright 2022 by M. E. Forbes.

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