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Thursday, 25 May 2017

'Teetering, Tilting' - A POEM

Teetering, tilting
Dangling, upon the edge
Of life, as it hangs
In a precarious disposition
With will to live
And desire, to succeed
One moves away
From the perilous ledge
And it took much
To do it
To decide to not
Simply lose one's way
But another event occurs
Another storm slowly stirs
And one returns
To teetering, tilting
And dangling
On the ledge
Upon the edge
Ready to make
Final pledge

© Dean R Boic 2017

Thursday, 22 December 2016

Not A Patriot - A POEM

It’s late 2015, I go on holiday,
I drive, 700km with my wife and daughter,
With the intention of,
Spending a week, trying to relax,
Away from all the shit,
Away from it all.
A few days in,
My wife’s father,
83 years of age,
Has a nasty fall,
Some 700km away,
He’s not doing well,
So the next day
We decide to drive back,
Some 700km.
We leave so early,
That even the birds
Are still asleep.
The drive is long,
I’m a good driver,
But I have to make frequent stops,
To nap.
I’m a Type 1 Diabetic,
And I start to worry
About my health.
Anyway, we arrive back home
We go and see the old man
He’s in even worse condition,
In a state hospital,
The shittiest of them all,
The nurse shows zero
Big surprise; fuck all regard
Visiting hours end,
We go home.
That same night,
My wife’s father passes on
They tell us nothing,
But he died; that’s all
They know
Big surprise; fuck all regard
The next day we go to visit
My mother in law
In frail care,
To tell her the news.
We spend some time there,
But I am feeling unwell
I begin to feel nauseous.
I go to lie down, but the feeling
Will not subside, will not abate.
Within moments, I end up
being rushed to hospital,
Admitted, for Diabetic Ketoacidosis
On the day my wife’s father dies,
I am kept there for four days,
First in ICU,
Then in a general ward,
I cannot contact my wife
For the first two days,
In her time of great need,
Anyway, I pulled through,
A few weeks later
Came the funeral,
It was a trying time,
But we made it,
We pulled through,
Thinking, 2016
Will be better.

But it wasn’t
I resigned from the job,
That was effectively
Killing me
When I told them,
I’m resigning with immediate
Effect, they told me
I’m talking shit,
Making it up
To get out
Begged me to work
A month’s notice
Big surprise; fuck all regard
So then I made, a complete career change
From being away from my family,
My wife and kids,
Spending my time with cunts,
Making money for cunts,
Risking my life,
To working from home,
Online, in my pyjamas
If I please,
We learned we were pregnant
Woohoo, it’s a boy
But this boy ate,
And ate, and ate,
Almost ate my wife
From the inside, out
He was born, early,
36 weeks premature,
If he’d stayed in, any longer
He’d probably have killed her
Anyhow, they cut him out
He’s here, a happy,
Hungry little boy,
Yep, still hungry
In the meantime,
I worked, hard
To find a new job
I went through rigorous training
Programs, days, at a time
Only to be dropped,
Even though, I had
All the knowledge, and skill required
Big surprise; fuck all regard
I soldiered on, eventually
I found something
It wasn’t great
It didn’t really fit
With my ethics
Their system was totally,
Unabashedly, unethical
But I tried
Then, our internet went
For a ball of shit
The service provider,
Couldn’t do shit
We called, numerous times
Logging complaints,
Requesting assistance
From July, to December
I had no job
I couldn’t work
Couldn’t pay my debt
Can’t buy my kids, my wife,
A fucking Christmas present
Debt collectors, breathing
Down my neck
Banks, creditors, the works
All after me, sending me
Nasty letters, emails
With arrogant threats
Of legal action
Even after I’d explained
My circumstances
Big surprise; fuck all regard
And people wonder why
I’m not a patriot

© Dean R Boic 2016

Tuesday, 20 December 2016

On Youth - A POEM

I was an influencer
I was, an instigator
I was a mentor, of sorts
Of people, who looked up, to me
Who wanted, to be, like me
They wanted, to party hard
They wanted, to get fucked up
And I never ever,
Actively sought,
To teach, any of them
These methods, of madness
These details, on debauchery
They decided, on their own
They, themselves, made the choice
And I provided, a means
A medium, if you will
To float in, to brew in
To ferment, in
And now, they are trained
And I, am retired
From that, particular field
Of, expertise;
The insatiable, thirst
Of Youth

© Dean R Boic 2016 (image courtesy of

Thursday, 27 October 2016

The Injustice Of Love - POEM

Where do I hide, from the injustice of Love

When fools, dare, to tango,

With temptresses, of the night,

And roguishly, good-looking, boys

That ensnare their victims. . .

And left, to be torched,

Our beautiful emotions, spent,

And what have we, learned

Whence, we have yearned,

So blindly, so foolishly,

So repetitively, and each

Time-trodden bruise, covered up

As mere reflections we are,

Of our former selves,

Each crippling, fantastic experience,

Chipping, away,

At the once whole image

Of the innocent, regretless

Beginning. . .

Why would we hide, from the injustice of Love,

When every bone, in our bodies,

Longs, for the joy,

That Love brings. . .

© Dean R Boic 2016

Wednesday, 12 October 2016

A Call To Awareness - [POEM]

Things are a little fucked
Right now,
Things are looking a bit pear-shaped
Right now,
The universe is saying,
“Pull your finger,
Out of your ass,
And everyone in the world’s
Saying, “I only care
About me
And what happens
To me.”
Me won’t matter
And neither will I
If the world should fall
To irreparable shit
It’s heading there
It’s been plotting this course
For quite some time
But we’ve all been too busy
Too self-involved,
Too self-absorbed
Thumbing through our newsfeeds
Forgetting about it
At this rate,
This descending, dropping,
We can forget about
Forgetting about anything
Because there might not be
Anything left
To remember

© Dean R Boic 2016

Friday, 24 June 2016

A Nice Place - POEM

So I moved into a new place
A couple of months back
Nice place
A bit noisy
But all in all
A nice place
After a few weeks
I noticed that
The remote-controlled
Gate, to the complex
is on the fritz
Every other week
We received a memo:
Criminals are trying to open
The gate
At night. Please
Be vigilant, and
Keep an eye out.”
And I realized
No matter how nice
The place
Or how sturdy
The gate
You’re not safe anywhere
It’s a nice place

© Dean R Boic 2016

Why Nobody Likes Writers - POEM

If I wanted to
I could easily approach
Each and every writer
Or poet
Or blogger
That I know
And ask them,
“Hey, how’s the writing going?”
But I know what they’d say,
“It’s going slow.”
“Well, I’m still relying on
My day job.”
That’s exactly what
I would say
I’m in the same boat as
Them, the same
Situation as
Them, unless
I’ve made it big
Then nobody
Can contact me
Not even to ask
For a tip
Or two
"Go away,"
they say,
"I’m busy
Making money
And I won’t
Give you
A clue."
And I surmise
From my own
Deductions that
This is why
Nobody likes

© Dean R Boic 2016 (Image courtesy of, quote by Quentin Tarantino)