"abled" poems
Rudolph was differently -abled
As nearly everybody knows.
He suffered discrimination
because he had a nose that glows.
All of the alt-right Reindeer
Were bigoted and called him names.
They never let poor Rudolph
Participate in Reindeer games
Then one foggy holiday Eve
O.S.H.A came to say
“This hostile workplace violates rules
There will be hefty fines to pay!”
Now all of the Reindeer hate him
but learned to hide it carefully.
They just spent two weeks in training
For Reindeer sensitivity.
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 9:05 PM UTC
Fate, the absolute tyrant -
Brings me to my desk,
And I sit down to vent
This infernal night,
As prose or verse,
Or utter hogwash -
My wasted emotions -
Which some termed rhapsodic.
I promised myself not to cry -
As the day would dawn,
And I'd wheel down the aisle.
Making myself fall prey -
To another trade
Of cash and silver and solid gold,
A car and bungalow and so much more
- Of which in detail, I wasn't told.
Though I was called a beauty
Who could leave people dazed,
With two curvy dimples,
That lit my pretty face.
People never touched me
And would look at me with shame
Tell me I looked fragile
Once they knew I was lame.
I grew within four walls -
Comfy cushions and space
And it wasn't my legs, feeble
That restricted my pace.
It was love from parents
Siblings' scorn and care
That kept me from the wisely world
To go outdoors, I never dared.
I grew up crawling on my limbs
And seeing people walk
I never wished for them to stop -
Only prayed that they wouldn't talk!
For it was not their legs, I longed for
I reveled for what I was!
I only hoped they applied thought
Before pitying, how crippled I am!
I grew up watching the world go by
Each day and night would fly
Fantasizing with what I had been blessed -
My free and 'abled' mind!
I dream of a world - filled with trust
And friends who would 'walk' with me
Who would talk to me for who I was
And not offer sympathy!
I wished for love,
And found mine, divine
In a fairy tale -
Ironic indeed!
I sang love songs,
Wrote mushy poems
Painted wild dreams -
All to him, which would eventually lead.
You must have known this little boy -
Though a flaw, he did make history.
"Pinocchio", he was fondly called
And was known as a puppet with zeal!
It was not his quest for love that struck
Nor his zest to live
For it was his gait with wooden legs,
In which I could identify me!
But my dreams were thwarted
When to a man, I was entrusted -
(Or rather, on me thrusted)
One - with no love, but legs instead.
Along with blessings
For him to take along
Ample gifts were bestowed -
To keep us betrothed!
And now I await
To be proclaimed his wife
In the presence of a world
Which always kept me deprived.
It will be dawn
And I will soon be gone -
Yet I will yearn
For my Pinocchio to return!
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 10:21 AM UTC
The path of
A peace warrior
Is often misunderstood
This power, focused intention
Must be endured
By the peace warrior
For she is commited to peace
To love, to that above
To us
She, the warrior of light
Of sanctuary, peacefully
Outstretched before we
Lined with sparkling things.
She guides thee,
Her wings light and free.
Soaring through the heavens
Watching carefully, closely,
Whole heartedly. Dipping
Fingertips, sensory system abled,
Deep into the surface of the woes
The heart aches
Soothing through the presence of self.
Energy focused, clarity surfaced.
Stand the tests alone...
Until another from the Sun arrives
Open your heart, for the
Unity is the rise, the prize of the day!
Nourished just under the presence
Of skin,
Just beyond the weight of wind.
The system that touches us all,
Releasing all degrees of separation.
Illusionary precognitions.
Only One.
The peace warrior knows the way
Her counsel gathers round her
And fixes to smother her burn,
Only to encourage new light
To emit.
Squeezing out the rays
The ways of the
Peaceful warrior,
To be spread along with the wind
And the breath of God.
I welcome all that is within.
I set myself on fire!
Focused on the light
I choose this path
The steps clearer now
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 2:54 AM UTC
They say opposites attract,
I disagree
They say there’s tons of fish in the sea
but i’ve got my eye only on one
A fish with special stripes
identical to mine.
A mind complicated enough
to understand my convolution
A heart abled to be sentimental
But i am forced to
push away my sense of affection,
For i value our friendship more than my own emotions
I hate losing people, i’ve lost many
But none i have begged from leaving
Perhaps you’ll be the first.
They say feelings are what makes up a human
But i guess i would have to ignore mine for you
just to keep you forever.
as a friend.
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 10:13 AM UTC
(I)
People used to light candles to ward off
prophesies such as this. Stopping, each
motherly representative, for 75 seconds
or less,
to tip match-spark to wax-thread
and hope for the best.
What ceremonial significance now
do we seek for to slow the approach
of what we know is waiting?
Oncoming march of death-knolls and unhappiness
bound up in silence
where
once we laughed uncensored at and for
the characters who spun throughout
this town, that school, the city, our lives.
All being, understandably, becomes
efficiently replaced with obvious simplicity.
From effortless performances
of what made our lives important
back in childhood years when living
was stable and guaranteed,
now to this mongrel era of constant migration
beckoning....
The familiar is no longer our youth’s
careless summer holidays.
The Familiar is now a land where
people don’t bother with any ideas
of an ideal existence beyond
what lottery tickets may bring.
Those who inhabit here are
more alerted to the purpose of lighting
coals in winter to shelter the children
and to keep the windows from cracking.
In summer find these same awaiting with
patient ears to heed any advice
which keeps them from going completely insane.
(II)
Go now, away
,begin
your quest, foolish schoolboy.
An entire adolescence’s
comeuppance is due.
Time now to seek recompense
for the years you waited
for anything significant to happen.
Time to seek girls with inviting eyes
and lilting vowels to offer favors to.
Abled with a catalogue of charmed
intoxicants. All softened by
a plentitude of weekdays waking
at three in the afternoon.
(Does “afternoon” exist in layman’s terms? Does
he simply made do with morning, day and night?)
Then on your flight make haste
to ensure your visit merely brief.
Like only one dimension of
your day-persona be a hawk
that delivers messages
back to the ivory towers of
new central HQ, while remaining
all cloak and whisper.
Messages from where people live
but no longer speak,
as result of an assigned sense
of failure,or complimentary
wrongdoings sought, what sorrow achieves.
Shattered lives, Ending dreams.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 11:55 AM UTC
The mastery over self is the ability to reboot.
It is an act to be human when the vibe of indifference exists.
Steps to be followed:
- Think of the innocence smile, someone beyond your family
- Think of the reason, last time you had soulful smile
- Think of that person whom you made smile
- Think of the persons whose smile you could preserve
- Think of an idea, sure to trigger smile
Now close your eyes
Remember the last photograph, you got a nice smile
If abled, rebooting completed
Now you are certified
If it doesn’t make change
Repeat the process
Reboot again
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 4:07 AM UTC
A dis abled man doesn't do a good job because they are teasing
You see disabled man just bludgers, and if any pretty young
Lady starts working to help them, they play with their hair
And quite often really annoys them, and it is not just because
They are playing with their hair, no they don't know squat
About how to get out there and actually work
Well, they will work, but in small lots and also
They will take days off to go to see parades
And then look at all the workers, saying
You stupid little ****** little fool
You are trying too ****** hard to teach us how to work
And you are making us laugh so hard
Of course whether he would say that, no one knows
Cause he is disabled, he doesn't really know any better
He thinks he is being cool with us
The best thing to do is have a lot of fun
And not get in the bosses way, at any time
Especially if the boss yells at them, or gets sick of them
Instead of keeping around them like them like a bad smell
Like the disabled man usually does, and let me tell you
He can display signs of anger and it often interferes with
Their work, and after that the disabled man
Will crack himself laughing if anybody was getting yelled at by the boss
Like he is in primary school, you know the way kids act when
You get in trouble with the teacher
The disabled man does work, but you know
Often they show limitations and also they are too disabled
To know why things happen, and I start to think, that
The reason why liberals hate disabled people
Is they can be angry little *****
When they ****** think they're right
The dis abled man will work but they still will act
Like a kid, when they are either told to clean up
Or go over the job again, because they are trying to tease
Yes, dis abled men have no work ethics, still like school atmosphere, and
A disabled man doesn't do a good job because they are teasing
Sent from my iPhone
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 3:59 PM UTC
Cain slew Abel –
Thus began the parade of
Characters whose dynasties
We remember, who decorate
Our memories.
Abraham –
He gave us all the stars
In the sky, a greater lineage
Than the grains of sand
Slapped by seas.
Moses –
The babe in the bulrushes,
The prince turned traitor
Whose whiplashed back
Parted the Red Sea.
Tempus fugit –
Geo Washington, Thos
Jefferson, Alex Hamilton –
Madison, Adams, Franklin –
Minds who created, who
Dreamed, who begat.
How many names we find
In those first tumultuous
Years – warfare and love,
Duels and decadence,
Politics and party.
Scant years later, across
The pond – revolution is
Catching on – les français
Waged a ****** scene,
Ousting the régime.
What would become a
Baby democracy – birthed
More than one new flag
And song – yet lived to
Fight again and bleed.
History is ours to hear –
We respect the honorable,
Honor the drama, revere
The prudent and refight
The battles.
The District of Columbia
Paints a new canvas – she
Sings off key, her promises
Begging for whitewash, her
Patrons vice and folly.
What offspring will such as
These sire? Are they fathers
To found a new nation – to
Garner worldwide pride, or
To slay the abled?
Let the wings of victory
Carry us back to the days
Of greatness – let us exceed
In probity and virtue – let
Freedom succeed again.
© Lewis Bosworth, 3-2017
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 11:36 PM UTC
So many times
Trying to turn reasons
Into rhymes
Newest muse
Desperate attempt
Only to fall short
As soon as attention
Noticed
Wide eyed girl
Obsessed may I
Lacking depth
As soon as
Emotions copied
Or furthermore
Replaced
Gravity
With weights and stools
Climbing higher
Reaching further
Grasping air
While the painted red smile
Walked further north
And the Abled girl
With wide frames; golden bay
Lingered patterned
Against broken scooters and watched
While I made a fool over feet
In autumn leaves and new beginnings
You held my arm
While minds wander
Of heavenly thought
Of what it would be like
To hold your hand
And not mess it up
With my idiotic tongue
And presumptuous lip
Always rushing
Like one constant race
When the rules
Clearly states
Walk not run
Try to slow my tracking feet
From making another big leap
Intensively driven
Pretty glass eyes girl
Did you want me to admit my defeat?
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 5:30 PM UTC
Sober in the ****** light
sees me looking out over an empire,
the chimneypot stacks pointing towards
gray weathered skies
and my clock lies,
it’s an hour ahead of time,
near six to be precise,
and my head is soldier like:
vigorous, vigilant and abled to strike.
Drunk in the ****** light
sees me looking out over disappointment,
a recollection from last night-
*let me dance in an awful club with a girl whose eyes know what I’m on about,
and that my dancing is only a dance- not performance art nor a joke-*
-and the chimneypot stacks are early with their smoke,
I am cold in this jumper
and my I lie,
it's an hour behind the rest,
just past four
and my head is all over the place,
unsteady and unsure.
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 10:51 AM UTC
with unencumbered pink flourish she strips knickers down and dress shruggled brisk over her head a flit of no patience for my timid bow she clocks my eyes senses are abled then blasted overwhelm with her **** light it radiates exposed armpits huff glowing mist her groin blazes at me stricken to match but my male has no luminosity and no athlete or brute *** form either she must have liked our bar dance or the alcohol defect or she might even have bin soft for the random humour i worded her wooded way she reflects and we are minded and shyly i lump off my boots scuffle my clothes to the ground and embrace for the pacts effect everything becomes animal our playful selves step in take sleeve over us makes us kinetic cadaverliers strobic and i’m all muzzle and snout oder out of control and slurring eyes and hooked hands grubbing foreign soft hummocks and we brandish the moon and charge on frantic stimulus it's all fleshed out in front of us this splay
May 18, 2024
May 18, 2024 at 11:43 AM UTC
A dis abled man doesn't do a good job because they are teasing
You see disabled man just bludgers, and if any pretty young
Lady starts working to help them, they play with their hair
And quite often really annoys them, and it is not just because
They are playing with their hair, no they don't know squat
About how to get out there and actually work
Well, they will work, but in small lots and also
They will take days off to go to see parades
And then look at all the workers, saying
You stupid little ****** little fool
You are trying too ****** hard to teach us how to work
And you are making us laugh so hard
Of course whether he would say that, no one knows
Cause he is disabled, he doesn't really know any better
He thinks he is being cool with us
The best thing to do is have a lot of fun
And not get in the bosses way, at any time
Especially if the boss yells at them, or gets sick of them
Instead of keeping around them like them like a bad smell
Like the disabled man usually does, and let me tell you
He can display signs of anger and it often interferes with
Their work, and after that the disabled man
Will crack himself laughing if anybody was getting yelled at by the boss
Like he is in primary school, you know the way kids act when
You get in trouble with the teacher
The disabled man does work, but you know
Often they show limitations and also they are too disabled
To know why things happen, and I start to think, that
The reason why liberals hate disabled people
Is they can be angry little *****
When they ****** think they're right
The dis abled man will work but they still will act
Like a kid, when they are either told to clean up
Or go over the job again, because they are trying to tease
Yes, dis abled men have no work ethics, still like school atmosphere, and
A disabled man doesn't do a good job because they are teasing
Sent from my iPhone
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
abled body worker,
with nothing to show for,
dreams are there but never acted upon,
thoughts break,
with no initiative to act,
scared and confused,
life stays blunt without direction..
Jun 18, 2010
Jun 18, 2010 at 11:40 AM UTC
A list:
He wears blue.
I love blue.
His clothes fit.
Mine don't.
He isn't ashamed to wear his spectacles.
I am. I am. I see myself too clearly with them.
He only eats vegetables because he has been convinced for four years.
I have never ever been absolutely convinced of anything for longer than a day.
Maybe except gravity.
Me, pulled like a planet into his orbit.
A minor planet,
But no.
I am not a romantic.
My fingers stutter on the keyboard.
He's smart.
I am, but differently-abled.
His quiet is cool.
My quiet is shy and sweet and all the things girls are supposed to be until we find out that we don't have to shave our legs because ***** patriarchy.
He had a vegan mint rolled oat brownie for lunch but they are not cake because they're flourless.
I ordered the 'beef salad' on the menu because I thought it was funny.
And all these reasons that we wouldn't fit, and still a thrill of excitement. And the girls around us that make us laugh and the girls who are not me who make him laugh. And the shame at having tried too hard and acting too cute and being too, just being too...
Bless me, for I have sinned.
I saw the fantasy before the person.
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
The world is a place with a price tag
The chances to win are alive
They move and they dance amongst thieves and the hidden
The readily abled disguised.
The reels roll quickly and stop and align and amidst you are rubble and hate
The life we have tilted towards enemies gates and our destinies stolen and broken our fates.
The emptiness swells like the oceans and seas
The tension is felt from your neck to your knees
The endings are promised and time is a weapon of worlds we don't know and lives unforseen.
This life is a nightmare of me.
A kingdom around it and nothing to eat.
I dream and I torture the person within me
The slots all increasing their speed.
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 2:11 PM UTC
Tears shed
Hearts abled
People wave goodbye
And I wish it was a lie
I cry away in solitude
In my sulking attitude
I want to be alone
Completely lone
To cry away
To shed the tears
To get away
From the life of gray
I hate you, I say
Why couldn’t you stay
Why am I like this
Completely without bliss?
The feeling of loneliness
You take away my wholeness
Why did it happen
What happened to my passion?
Why is everything so black?
I just want to have you back
I feel so empty
So full of memory
But even if you did reappear
It might have been a year,
It wouldn’t be the same
You would have a new flame
So I say this: Farewell, Friend
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
The skin that stretches over her cheek
also
stretches over her hips and knees
But she covers it all in light denim jeans and a loose t-shirt
covering all the nerve endings of her skin so
no one
sees the goose flesh creep across her chest
at the mention of the word.
A word that would cause any machine to tremble with fear
but she fears it, too.
She too, is a machine.
Her fingers work through the knots in her hair quite efficiently
Her knees and elbows are abled joints
She does not tell her heart to beat, but it does so with a rhythm
filling each tiny, twisting vein
that trail like lace throughout her entire body.
And so she sits there, in her clothing, hoping no one says the word
but she hasn’t even realized, she’s already begun to rust.
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 4:18 AM UTC
Second rate Dame
run of the mill lame
too late in life
to ever make a good wife
Common fool
Pretending she's cool
if I had been seventeen
instead of ordinary thirty something
so-so I'm told
fair lady living in a dream
indifferently abled queen
Passable, yet straining to hide
I worship you" she lied
Alone in this medium world
I wonder "what if I had been a girl?"
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 2:38 PM UTC
Keeping a distance
I could not deal with your existence
You were as I remembered;
Strong and abled.
You were the flower that withstood storms,
The nightingale that sung the loveliest songs.
But you no longer could bend without breaking,
or sing without choking
What is left is a life of struggling,
a body that is slowly crumbling.
Refusing to accept reality,
I tried denying life's cruelty.
Then I touched you,
and felt the emotions I tried to seal
Gushing out in waves,
tears rolling down my face.
Finally, it dawned on me
that it is time to accept life as it is
To stop living in denial,
And accept life's trial.
And trust that God will give you comfort,
while I keep you happy with all my effort.
When the day comes and you have to go
Deep down, I will know
That we have walked through this together,
and that is all that matters.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 3:36 AM UTC
Man.
Imagination is too much.
Fantasies are to unreal.
People become too stereotypical.
Society is just a depressing matter.
Our generation is corrupt.
Our bodies still abled.
With every breathe we take,
We are labelled.
We are humanity.
We are People.
We should love who we are.
We should love how we feel
Because maybe all the ******** that happens nowadays is to:
**make us stronger,
a fighter.
as a whole,
tighter.**
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
All the grown-ups say
that someday,
you will be as big
and tall as me.
You will wear these pants,
this shirt, these shoes.
That you will have the
colonial and collie
safe in the suburbs.
That you will
have offspring that have
your nose and eyes,
because that's what
you were born to do.
All the grown-ups
omit
that growing up
is about
choices.
The choice to
look as you feel.
The choice to
severe all your ties
and run free.
The choice to
experiment with drugs
to finally learn
some valuable information.
The choice to bravely
march forward in life
alone.
Or the choice to
reprise the role the
grown-ups have already played.
They mourn
their fleeted youth,
their abled bodies,
and their lost sense of wonder
in the world,
doing whatever they can
to reincarnate themselves
in the young
so they will not be forgotten;
to have us avoid
the mistakes
they have made.
But what they really yearn for
was the time
when all they had
were choices.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 7:06 PM UTC
As you sing,
I hear
I love to do that,
O my dear!
Have heard songs
Of this world
For so long
Some plagued
My ears
While some did
Enchant them
I loved their
Experience
For if you can
Get amrita(liquid of immortality)
Not by mouth
But by ears
Won't you
O my dear?
So my ears
Were blessed
Serving as the passage
Of some thing so dear!
But more than
Anything else
Your song is dear
Why?
I knew you'd
Wonder
For this
Is song no mere
It is the expression
Of one so near
Yet
Looked upon
Differently
With such discrimination
He cannot
Communicate
As you and I do
But this doesn't mean
The end of creativity
In his mind
God has gifted him
A great vocal chord
To produce tunes
Parts of a
Mellifluous song!
Why won't he?
His mind grows slowly
He becomes hyperactive at times
But this is his life
He's not disabled
Born to carry the glory
Of being specially abled
So as the unknown boatman
Of the boat called life
Moves ahead in its journey
Let me listen
To his songs
Let his melodies enchant me
Oh he's nothing
Just one of
God's creations
With autism!
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 5:16 AM UTC
We have grown and passed
Through all the good and bad
We have seen and even been
The change outside and within
We praise all humans' humane
A ceremony for them, we entertain
But the inhuman acts remain
There's no stop to this revolving chain
And songs of humanity we still sing
But to intolerance is what we cling
Intolerance to religions and race
Intolerance to freedom, we face
A division in the rich-poor grade
Intolerance to differently abled and sexed
Though we want 'Our Descendants' to be at ease
And a better future we hope there is
But for how we want the building to stand
We need a strong foundation plan
Instead what we do is we showcase
Our staggering walks to the path of mess
And make them learn
To walk alike when we are gone
If the world's a house, We're its bricks
At that, What a person within him seeks
Is all that matters,
Guilt or Pride...
For what we shall leave behind!
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 2:31 AM UTC
We are way more in my mind
The most wildest fetish I sign.
But only be abled of dream
Is an unjustified punishment, I deem.
When haven't even touched his skin
How can i be,
Guilty of sin?
Sep 25, 2024
Sep 25, 2024 at 4:57 AM UTC