"assisted" poems
750
Growth of Man—like Growth of Nature—
Gravitates within—
Atmosphere, and Sun endorse it—
Bit it stir—alone—
Each—its difficult Ideal
Must achieve—Itself—
Through the solitary prowess
Of a Silent Life—
Effort—is the sole condition—
Patience of Itself—
Patience of opposing forces—
And intact Belief—
Looking on—is the Department
Of its Audience—
But Transaction—is assisted
By no Countenance—
17.4k
The love that a son has for his father..
The love that a father has for his son
A trust in another man to lead you and get it done
Showed me things gave me knowledge That on my own
I wouldn't have known
Something that can't be taught in college
Met you when I was in 7th grade I have grown
Can you see the seed you have sewed
Can you see where my work ethic comes from
Blood, sweat, and tears
Callus thumbs
Your the reason why I know that I can be a homeowner
Cause I seen you do it first
Held me up when times got rough
Fatherhood
When I wasn't ready you assisted like a crunch
When my heart was crushed
You open your doors help with my direction
When we kick it, manly admiration and love is what's reflected
Just want to let you know you are respected
My father died then God blessed me with you to prove I wasn't neglected
Fatherhood
Helped me stand when I couldn't
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 5:18 PM UTC
This poem is by Norman Stevens in response to MY poem about HIM. Have made some minor changes.
In Willy’s Bar on High,
Sheltered from Cleethorpes sea and sky,
Paul Butters utters words of cheer,
While quaffing his pint of Willy’s beer.
He sets about his spicy meal,
Loading up for his evening’s sport,
When he’ll aim to be the real deal.
Owner Bill’s Angels prepare another stew,
To help down another “home –made” brew.
They nip outside for another “staff meeting”,
Paul says they’ve gone for a ***
But THAT I’m not repeating.
Throughout these capers,
Norman reads his informative papers.
Sipping his Nectar Beer,
He’ll leave in good cheer.
Norman Stevens
Assisted by Paul Butters
(C) PB\NS 17\11\2015.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
**† † †
A quorum of biblical scholars
turned their doubts into thousands of dollars.
Armed with Document Q
they revealed nothing new
but the dirt neath’ the white of their collars.
A proud “health & wealth” Oklahoman
was renowned as a gospel-tent showman.
While the scriptures he twisted,
their tithing assisted
his rise from poor hick to rich Roman.
A sexually diverse professor
(assured he was not a transgressor)
spoke only of openness
glossing sin’s brokenness;
rainbows and tolerance—yes sir.
A Mormon, who lost his own ephod
Realized he was running quite slipshod
and invoked Joseph Smith.
(Yes, it may be a myth—
but it’s not like misplacing your I-pod…)
A Christian whose faith was prophetic
held to views that were truly pathetic.
This crazed Pentecostal,
not quite an apostle,
had taken an End-Times emetic.
A sober and staid Presbyterian
was distrustful of thoughts millenarian.
After smoking some bud,
he awoke with a thud;
in his sleep he’d become Rastafarian.
A preacher who fleeced his disciples
overdrew his own balance of scruples.
He was finally captured
(defrocked and un-raptured)
and rent by his destitute pupils.
A sister who waxed Pentecostal,
mistook herself for an apostle.
Speaking pure glossolalia
she sure could regale ya’
with prophecy; crazy—but docile.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 8:12 AM UTC
As I sit here, at the dining room table and stare over decaf coffee at the screen on my Mac
my eyes are drawn, once and awhile, to the picture sitting on the buffet in the butler's pantry.
Before we continue you should know that "butler's pantry" in this case
means the "third bedroom" that we saw in the listing on Realtor dot com before we bought the house and that,
in the usual real estate-ese, is an optimistic label at best.
But I was talking about the picture.
The picture sits, slightly askew, in a carved wooden bowl given to us by my wife's boss
as a housewarming present.
It, the bowl I mean, came with salad tongs or forks,
depending on what it is that you call them,
made of water buffalo horn.
They sit in the bowl too and,
although she'd never admit it,
I know that the thought of serving salad with water buffalo horn salad forks...
lets just say.....
doesn't appeal to my wife.
Right, the picture....
It sits in on the buffet,
in the carved wooden bowl,
next to another wood bowl.
This one full of carved wood fruits and vegetables,
which evidently, includes sugar cane.
When my wife's dad moved from his house to an assisted living facility
the kids, my wife, her brother and sister, took turns going down to help him move.
My wife was the last and dad insisted that
someone
"had" to take the fruit.
But, the picture....
It, and the wooden bowls full of fruit and unused salad forks,
are surrounded by both faux and real glassware
and placemats
which all sit perched
on the top of the buffet as precariously as refugees
and all of their belongings
on the deck and roof of an overloaded fishing boat
chugging from their homeland
to some place that is hopefully better.
The picture...
It was painted by my father-in-law and,
of all the others we have in the house,
is one of my favorites.
It sits on the buffet, askew in the carved wooden bowl with the horn salad forks,
amid polycarbonate and glass drink ware,
and placemats,
unframed for some reason.
All of his other works came framed
but this is one he did not...
and did I mention that it is one of my favorites?
I like his choices of frames on all of the other pictures we have,
but this is just canvas, stretched over a frame,
sitting in that carved African wooden bowl
with those salad forks made from water buffalo horn
on the buffet next to the other wood bowl full of wooden fruits and vegetables,
and wooden sugar cane,
in the butler's pantry.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 9:51 AM UTC
My old great-aunt Elaine with her withered hands gave me $200 and beaded handbag
"This your mad money," she told me, as we sat on that nursing home couch, "And it ain't for your purse. This goes in your shirt, where only you know you got it."
The assisted-living nurse chuckled to herself. They got along, my great-aunt and her.
"Why?"
"Cuz if you get angry," she said, in that Marlboro-raspy voice of hers, "And you gotta go, you walk out on your date and you leave 'is *** And then you got your money for a strong drink. And your cab."
The nurse laughed
My aunt re-situated herself on the nursing home couch. Elaine Dauterive. Her mind was going, and so was her health, but she was as regal as a queen on her throne in that moment
her fire-red hair, ungrayed, was her crown
No cape as royal as that sleeping gown.
"Don't you think for once second I can't take care of you, honey," she said in that creole drawl, and I knew what she meant
Because even after she'd gone I would have that mad money
All stuffed in my bra for when I needed it
Because she was older than time, for me, seeing things like
The Great Depression, World War II
What I read in history books
I'd be ****** if I took what she said with even one grain of salt because Auntie-Lane, I'll be ****** if I don't love you
And I know you're on your way out and
I'll buy you whiskey in the afterlife with some of that $200 cash that you busted your *** scrounging up for me
Southern hospitality at its finest
And those liver spots redder than wine adorn you like badges of honor for all of the years you've endured
My elder - creole woman, with a soul as fire-red as her hair, breathing more smoke than air
My old dragon
On a pile of gold: her mad money
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
your hands, are the hands that have brought me up and into the light
the hands that assisted me to break through the fright
and I don't know what I'm going to hold on to
when your hands leave me without a clue
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 2:07 AM UTC
799
Despair’s advantage is achieved
By suffering—Despair—
To be assisted of Reverse
One must Reverse have bore—
The Worthiness of Suffering like
The Worthiness of Death
Is ascertained by tasting—
As can no other Mouth
Of Savors—make us conscious—
As did ourselves partake—
Affliction feels impalpable
Until Ourselves are struck—
4.3k
A hail storm of tears roll down your chest
I feel you are near
Your warmness wasn't sincere
Harness your empathy and color clear
Pierce the molded statue held together by strong glue and fear
You seem to be ignoring the address
Instead you only here muddled up curses of vulnerability
Hurt feelings you developed as a system to keep you safe
Creating a type of gunk around your face
It's thick film is nothing but a temper angry
I am sorry no one assisted you in modifing your animosity
You will forever be stuck immature and hating
You could always let go of resentment and regret
but then
You would have to forgive
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 7:16 PM UTC
Peak temperature water levels fake diagnoses white psychopaths starving hunger jingoism violence [systems that deprive us] guns entitlement shots fired accidents grief/mourning choking hazard corporate mascots corporate favoritism corporate bailouts corporate people ideology without monitor nationalism patriotism conservatives patriarchy murder-rape-suicide victim silence lack of conviction religious ********** false history infant mortality job insecurity invisible hands trickle down economics union busters corporate police brutal police evil police secret police debt bankruptcy foreclosure homelessness lost confused prisoner criminal banker war preparations propaganda ballots commercials advertisements campaigns money power puppets figureheads armies genocides **** bomb gas fire no survival violence wealthy lawyers assassinations heart complications death sleep.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
787
Such is the Force of Happiness—
The Least—can lift a Ton
Assisted by its stimulus—
Who Misery—sustain—
No Sinew can afford—
The Cargo of Themselves—
Too infinite for Consciousness’
Slow capabilities.
3.2k
He was taken into custody on Friday
After he got off a bus in Marseille
That had come from Amsterdam
By way of Brussels,
According to police.
The manhunt began
After he opened fire
At the Jewish Museum
In the center of Brussels,
Killing at least 3 people,
Obviously: an anti-Semitic attack.
He was taken into custody
“As soon as he set foot in France,”
According to François Hollande,
Congratulating himself
For an efficient round up of
The usual suspects, all Jihadi
Round trippers from Syria.
He was taken into custody in a mere 6 days--
A magnifique display of French efficiency,
A sublime achievement by
Our furry friends in
Police-Protective Services.
The swarthy perp was carrying a Kalashnikov--
That’s AK-47 for you NRA gun nuts--
A handgun, ammunition, a baseball cap,
A small video recording device, and a
Copy of The Koran,
All items matching
Descriptions of the gunman,
And, even if not, a known-terrorist
Named Mahdi bin Laden,
Carrying an assault rifle
Would have been enough
To fit the profile,
Justify the profiling,
Sufficient to stop anyone
Passing through Customs,
Except, of course
The French Corps Diplomatique,
Wreaking most of the havoc in the EU these days.
There was once a time when any Thom, Dieter or Heine
Could get outta town on a ratline,
Blessed by the Pope,
Assisted by the OSS.
A white linen suit and a Panama hat:
Was all it took any Schutzstaffel
To pull off another Argentine makeover,
Melt into the landscape,
Speaking Spanish with a thick German brogue.
It’s nice to know
Jew persecution is criminal,
Socially frowned on these days.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC
She's the girl with the Bambi Eyes
Hidden behind a pair
of heart-shaped sunglasses
The ones I bought her
I like to roll her name
off the tip of my tongue
from the pit
of the fire
of my *****
Great artists steal
She took my heart
and fueled it with temptation
and had me
fullfill her wish lists
with kisses of wishful thinking
if I thought I was going
to get more than pics
Seductive
snapshots
slipping
Something beautiful
in the back of my mind for once
'cause all I see dark
things sometimes
It'd be nice to shed some light
on the situation
like I'm worthy of enlightenment
we are all one narrative
choose your own anima archetype
******
operative
word
plays
my heart like a harp
and makes life seem
more
harmonious
The more she stares me down
with
assisted
spontaneous
combustion
on her mind
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
Once we're on the slippery slope,
With assisted suicide,
That's when the sick people,
Have nowhere left to hide,
Now that the clock is ticking,
Where will it all stop,
Next is the old folk,
We'll chop them till they drop,
Down Syndrome men and women,
Elderly, infirm who can tell,
Doctors must authorise,
Shipman did that well,
Then there's the druggies,
We'll have to use a rope,
Injection would be stupid,
Like giving them more dope,
They'll not be the last,
The unemployed are next,
They'll not be sent a letter,
We'll do it all by text,
Get them all lined up,
We'll do them one by one,
Give them the death injection,
Nowhere left for them to run,
The fat ones need to go,
Costing too much cash,
Eating too much food,
Use a knife to slash,
If your neighbour's a bit different,
You know, a bit like that,
Take out your weapon,
And stab him in the heart,
Clear the jails out,
The place if your a crook,
If we need more killers,
It's the very place to look,
Dignitas will be redundant,
We'll **** them all in house,
It'll be good business,
Shooting them just like grouse,
Forget about the smokers,
Assisted suicide's not their game,
With their lungs and breath failing,
They're dying just the same,
Life is so **** precious,
Killing's against God's law,
Commandment number six,
One of ten we shouldn't withdraw.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 1:53 PM UTC
*You're a trifling piece of **** excuse for a woman……
Mommy Dearest
Don't play the role now, where were you when you were needed, when you left me around whoever and I wanted to go with you, when I begged and pleaded.
Mommy Dearest
You turned your head when you knew....I was in the other room, being molested. And of course it's nothing new, that you played dumb and never confessed it
Mommy Dearest
A high was more important, assisted with your cruel insensitive nature. Shady willow tree in the summer, cold as the arctic glaciers.
Mommy Dearest
As far as I'm concerned we know I raised myself. So think of me as dead and expect nothing on the 12th……
.....Mommy Dearest*
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 11:25 PM UTC
Terry Pratchett died Thursday. He was a critically acclaimed British Fantasy Author, as well as an advocate for assisted suicide and Alzheimer's Disease. He himself was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in 2007, yet still continued to write, even after he was incapable of using a computer to write (he used a dictation machine afterwards). Before his death at the age of 66, he wrote the popular "Discworld" series consisting of four books, as well as one of my personal favorites, "The Wee Free Men." He was inspirational for me as a writer and he changed my view of writing. With his books, I found my writing style. There are no words to express my awe at his life and works, nor are there words to express my deep sadness in which I tell you that he has passed. May he rest in peace and reach a world even better than that of Discworld.
“There's always a story. It's all stories, really. The sun coming up every day is a story. Everything's got a story in it. Change the story, change the world.”
― Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky (Discworld, #32)
Well Mr. Pratchett, you've changed the story.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
It is with a heavy heart, but
I'm afraid that I will have to
Go off site for a while.
Some of you may have noted
That I have not been reading
As much as I did previously.
It's not that I don't want to.
I can't.
My father is becoming
More and more absent minded.
I have to keep an eagle eye on him.
He is 89 years old...
90 on February 27th.
So he's entitled.
My mom is not in the best of health.
I live with them. It is my
Duty as a daughter to give
Them care.
I hate the western philosophy of
Putting their elders in homes.
My parents can't afford
"Assisted living".
Therefore us kids need to
Step up to the plate.
Please know that you are all
Agape LOVED. And respected.
I will continue to read when I can.
I'll do my best. I'll be there to
Give you my ♥.
I will post on occasion.
But this is something that I must do.
Thanks.
Unconditional love to you all,
Catherine
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 5:58 PM UTC
To cultivate in ev’ry noble mind
Habitual grace, and sentiments refin’d,
Thus while you strive to mend the human heart,
Thus while the heav’nly precepts you impart,
O may each ***** catch the sacred fire,
And youthful minds to Virtue’s throne aspire!
When God’s eternal ways you set in sight,
And Virtue shines in all her native light,
In vain would Vice her works in night conceal,
For Wisdom’s eye pervades the sable veil.
Artists may paint the sun’s effulgent rays,
But Amory’s pen the brighter God displays:
While his great works in Amory’s pages shine,
And while he proves his essence all divine,
The Atheist sure no more can boast aloud
Of chance, or nature, and exclude the God;
As if the clay without the potter’s aid
Should rise in various forms, and shapes self-made,
Or worlds above with orb o’er orb profound
Self-mov’d could run the everlasting round.
It cannot be—unerring Wisdom guides
With eye propitious, and o’er all presides.
Still prosper, Amory! still may’st thou receive
The warmest blessings which a muse can give,
And when this transitory state is o’er,
When kingdoms fall, and fleeting Fame’s no more,
May Amory triumph in immortal fame,
A nobler title, and superior name!
1.9k
[Click]
…
*"Welcome back to Story Hour on PBS. Today we have a very special guest, who’s going to read us a very special story. Do you kids know anything about Greek Mythology? No? Well, you’re gonna learn some today. Everyone… say “Hello” to Bill."
“Hiiii Billlll”
“Now, children… he can’t hear you…”
“HIIII BILLL–”*
Hear the voice of the Bard!
Who Present, Past, & Future sees;
I am the Dean
of Cosmic Beans
That grow to poetrees
Then every man will ever clime
to he that sits upon
atop this rhyme
this mythic vine
Dwells the giant Albion
The giant of the sees,
his jealousea and fierce
bid him to seize
an Odyssey
assisted by a Circe
Circe, in play, did then, inturn
the shipsmen of his Highness
and with a Feast
did tern to beasts
not one of them a tygress
As Circe distracted with the beasts
Did Albion then turn
He stole the Fleece
from Circe’s niece
and left it to the terns
The terns, in turn, interned at sea
did little to digress
flew fleece of ram
into the hands
of swift and mighty Tigris
From Milton’s tale of sim’lar tree
that of Eve and Adam
With fearful sea
and symmetree
The Tyger ate The Lamb
*“The Tiger ate the Lamb?”
(crying)*
[Click]
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 6:04 PM UTC
The diaper fell to the floor
assisted by a tiny hand.
A grin spread from ear to ear
“I am free and here I stand.”
Freedom is short lived it seemed
On it goes, “I must have dreamed.”
“I try so hard to be cool.”
“They said something about a stool.”
Sixteen months and training for,
The Riviera... “I'm out the door!”
Sep 4, 2010
Sep 4, 2010 at 11:48 AM UTC
“The Unveiling”
A name so inconsistent for what it represents:
The pinch of the IV injection
The instant heaviness in my head
Wobbly knees
Being assisted to the “Treatment Room”
Its bitter sterility
Shedding my clothes
And all sense of control
The chill of the cold metal bed
The goose-bumps crawling over my skin
The stick of plastic beneath me
Luke-warm water
Slow pealing of ****** bandages
Sharp stings of pain
Quick to come again
And again
Soiled runoff dripping down my legs
Pop music playing over the speakers
The discomfort it caused me
Yellow curtains
The little boy on the other side
His screams filled with agony
Clenching a towel between my teeth
How it didn’t help either of us
Slowly examining the new skin
Black, blue, and bleeding
The smell of its rawness
Nausea
Hot tears on my cheeks
They burn
A team of doctors
Their impenetrable staring
Hearing them mumble, “It looks great.”
My disagreement
The gnawing desire to ask
Why
They give an utterly gut wrenching experience
Such a grandeur name
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
I never told my mother I love her until my senior year,
and I have been scheduled lately to care for a dying woman,
struggling, gasping for dry misty air. Few weeks ago, I leaned
over a newborn to monitor his extrauterine adaptation, his cry for life.
I first learned from my psychiatric nursing class that recognition
is a form of therapy, an ephemeral touch to the soul, the kind that
gifts me little snacks as reward for small talks with a patient. I guess it is the
words that turn into charms. I once asked an irritable elderly woman
if she had eaten and she also asked me in return. I was liquified. My house
has never had picture frames hung up on the walls. Crumbles of loss,
torn wedding album, heartbreak in my larva years.
I feel so privileged to be saved by the sick or I may say, to view
nursing as a means of holding on to life.
Some time in my senior year, I encountered a woman, same age
as my mother, with brain aneurysm and every movement of
her head, limb, and torso hurt her. I assisted her to the bathroom,
then I introduced myself again.
Apr 6, 2023
Apr 6, 2023 at 8:24 AM UTC
Appointment to have ***** removed by robot-assisted surgeon.
Air-conditioned, no mosquitoes in the OR. When you arrive
You'll remove all your clothes. Naked before the ladies, nurses
Who have seen it all before. Mainly remember you're not unique.
Think about the government while they're mixing up the medicine.
There's always governance even if there's little or no government.
Back to counting backwards. Inside out, if I die, will I know it?
At 70, Jack's running the gauntlet with some skill!
Benny Golson wonders aloud what might have been
Had Clifford Brown not been killed in that auto accident.
Jack's girlfriend once said he was the reincarnation of Clifford
But he doesn't believe in ghosts, karma or an afterlife.
Benny's old girlfriend Betty inspired the tune Along Came Betty
And that's the most afterlife Benny or Betty's gonna get.
The Trojan bench being not as deep as the Greek
Once Sarpedon and Hector go down even the lucky shot
To Achilles' feet is not enough to save the town.
Aeneas is no match for wily Odysseus
Although unbeknownst to all he has the last laugh when Rome
Conquers Athens, the Myrmidons, what's left of Ilion
And the whole known world from India to Britain.
It's not bad to acknowledge death's primacy
Although after a while you stop remembering
To fear. That's when everything becomes clear
Purpose v. purposelessness matters less,
Anomie v. rule of law, that's a preference
Love v. loneliness, worth about 25 cents
Or a million bucks in the light of the holocaust.
Nothing but light, love and the majesty of death in the room.
Machines stand ready like marines, their beauty is in the motion
That overcomes inertia. The food supply is deeply compromised
So eat whatever you want. Mourning the dead is part of the business
Of healing and staying alive. When you get to the afterlife, walk with
eyes open,
Ocotillo and cactus may be in flower. The robot does the work,
imposes
Its own small order, like a girl on a bicycle with disorder in her hair.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
If an overdose
On my medication
Can **** me…
Maybe, just maybe
Its nothing
But an assisted attempt
Of suicide from
My own doctor
For in the end
Death is nothing
But a side affect
Of these so called pills
That are slowly
And very eagerly trying
To **** me.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC