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Array ( [sid] => 167667 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => The Inmates [time] => 2011-10-06 05:59:11 [hometext] => Written in the style of Sylvia Plath's poem 'This is the way they ring the bells in bedlam' [bodytext] => And this is the way
The morning siren rings
And this is the hyperactive form teacher,
In front of whom we assemble every morning,
To take the class roll.
And because we are told to scramble for the top
And because we mind by instinct
Like children, caught on the wrong side of the merry-go-round
We are the circle of popular-perfects,
Who sit on the nice patch of grass at lunch,
And smile at each other in false modesty,
Who each pass around food,
Who each avoid it faster than the other,
Masquerading our insecurities
With new tales of control and euphoria
And this is the feeble Queen Bee,
Who grumbles, as if it were special
To be hungry, to be fed.
And this is the arrogant and obnoxious dominant male,
Who laughs at the jokes he fails to comprehend
Who laughs, ignorant all day
And this how the siren really sounds,
Calling the inmates ,
Each as untroubled and clean as a child in its playpen
And that is that mind of the child, ever responding
To the sound of the siren, and a teacher’s shrill tone
Whose tone calls them, promptly
And although they are no better for it,
They are expected to endure it.
So they do.
[comments] => 1 [counter] => 379 [topic] => 67 [informant] => thefacade [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => schoolproblems )

The Inmates

Contributed by thefacade on Thursday, 6th October 2011 @ 05:59:11 AM in AEST
Topic: schoolproblems

And this is the way
The morning siren rings
And this is the hyperactive form teacher,
In front of whom we assemble every morning,
To take the class roll.
And because we are told to scramble for the top
And because we mind by instinct
Like children, caught on the wrong side of the merry-go-round
We are the circle of popular-perfects,
Who sit on the nice patch of grass at lunch,
And smile at each other in false modesty,
Who each pass around food,
Who each avoid it faster than the other,
Masquerading our insecurities
With new tales of control and euphoria
And this is the feeble Queen Bee,
Who grumbles, as if it were special
To be hungry, to be fed.
And this is the arrogant and obnoxious dominant male,
Who laughs at the jokes he fails to comprehend
Who laughs, ignorant all day
And this how the siren really sounds,
Calling the inmates ,
Each as untroubled and clean as a child in its playpen
And that is that mind of the child, ever responding
To the sound of the siren, and a teacher’s shrill tone
Whose tone calls them, promptly
And although they are no better for it,
They are expected to endure it.
So they do.

Copyright Â© thefacade ... [ 2011-10-06 05:59:11]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: The Inmates (User Rating: 1 )
by emystar on Thursday, 6th October 2011 @ 10:47:52 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

Very sad but great writing.
Blessings,
emy

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