"blinkered" poems
Crisp white waiters serve you smiles in Haitian time
Going native on Saturday night with Lambi Creole
Ti Coca rhythm band beats the music of tonight
Running fast will be a heart attack in this old town
Red neck cops dine with plain Jane UN girls
Touch in weekend lust and hopeful smiling eyes
Local white eyes shine in contrast colourful love
Slow down chill out and move to the music now
Pétionville to Paris seems a million miles away
A tense post-carnival gloom sets into Cité Soleil
As naked kidnap victim runs free in desperation
Different worlds in this blinkered rain-soaked town
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 9:31 AM UTC
When you're a writer, you get invited to strange gigs
sometimes, where usually, the audience is arty farty
or even a bit precious and pretentious.
You know, the blue rinse set.
But I was once invited to recite poetry in a bar,
where I knew my audience might be ******
or maybe even abusive, and wouldn't give
a **** about writing.
Yeah? Well, I'm a bit of a word warrior, really,
so I didn't back off.
I stepped right in for the fight.
I said straight up that my poem was especially
for people like them who thought that writers are
wishy-washy, woffling, **** weak and luke-warm.
So then I said,
PPPHHHaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrtttttttt.
Very loud.
I told them this was some royal raspberry,
just for people like them,
who thought this was going to be another boring poem.
And then I threw in a few words like, ah, **** doggy fashion,
finger up the **** you know, just to liven things up.
I told them what I really thought.
***** You! Especially seeing as how you think poetry’s
some wimpy, bleeding heart, limp **** stuff. Right?
So let's get right down and ***** here.
Which is much more interesting, eh?
And do you know what that says about you?
No? You bleeding, blinkered, blind-as-bats
broomstick-up-the-arsed, boring, bonehead ********
So don't call this poet piss-weak any more
or I'll hit you bang between the eyes
and up between your thighs.
I've got some things to say you'd better not ignore.
When it comes to words, I'm a gouger and a biter.
I'm a brawling, hard-as-nails, no-holds-barred street fighter.
I'm a writer.
Yeah, well, no surprise here. That made them quieter.
I'd shut them up. So what did that prove?
I'd just abused and confused them.
It made me think, well, why did I bother?
Poems are for believers and lovers, aren’t they?
They don't need me to fight for them in bars.
Poems just are.
Yes,and some of them might live
as long as the stars.
Mike T Minehan
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
Monday's vision's fair of face
in the evenings the plasma rays shine
bright until seen through a window at a distance
******* energy from cables to my mind
blinding into happily blinkered existence
Tuesday's vision's full of grace
guilt makes me pull the covertous shutters down
being the observer is peep peeping embarrassing
being observed pays to add overtising shows on
it's so good not stirring when it's too disturbing
Wednesday's vision's full of woe
I am wilfully weak and slack on the couch
enjoying not having to speak or think
about being set up to get upset by nothing much
the sights flow seamless except when I blink
Thursday's vision has far to go
I would be there now but for one glitch
one flaw in the network's mesmeric sell
shared channels free as birds but rich
beyond the dragnet of any script's sequel
Friday's vision's loving and giving
in the smallest way it's electric beyond measure
distractions demanding attention with a hush
willing the constant whirling on with fresh images
look-look euphoric hooks to reel me in with a rush
Saturday's vision works hard for a living
and I'm wrapped in the dream of existing
by a simple drama of a varnished toenail
extending to a click the vanish going
going the way of Ting Ting Cao
your magnetic stimulation of the transcranial
kicks in and in my scrambled vision I saw
me touch your assimilation on redial
absorbing Sunday entire and raw
footage on display a draw so real
the pay channels dropped their jaw
surreal
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
Do you wait for him?
Eternal confusion.
Wondering where he is.
Is he wandering?
If he knew would he care that his actions eat you to the core?
Blinkered by the fantasy.
Strangled by the truth.
Unable to act.
You have fallen before.
Did you wait for him?
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 7:35 PM UTC
We took a bus to Wilmington
And skipped a dream or two
In order to be cognizant—
When the “Are we there yet’s”
Rebounded void of “yet.”
We parked the bus adjacent to
The paint-peeling facade
Of lonely temple Wilmington—
Threatening no demon of the sky
With a keenly polished death spike.
It had no spendthrift window of
Christ Jesus with the sick
And poor, neglected derelicts—
Who glow with jubilee and gold chloride
For His altruistic charities.
Across its door was fastened tight
A rusted iron chain
Which barred the shallow, blinkered souls—
Who loitered at the barrier’s feet
Waiting on God to warrant entry.
But we who were of cogent view
Detached deterring catch
And entered with our chins *****
A light-bulb-vacant sanctuary
Where taciturn shadows took a seat in every pew.
And down a velvet aisle stood
A lonely, weeping priest
Inhaling in unblemished palms—
That not a single pious doubter
Would dare inspect.
“Welcome to my church,” he said
With breathless, choking sobs,
“I am the congregation here—
The pastor, choir, usher, and Sunday school teacher
Of Wilmington Church of Reason.”
Inquired we what hidden woe
Enlaced with torment cast
Those salt discharged convulsions—
Quaking the sanctity of exultation
In the House of Apollo.
And with concise, unleavened words
He justified his tears
And whispered to our weary troop—,
“Alone, alone am I,
Isolated within this box of omitted truth.
“O, give me soothing slumber deep
And strip these sentient eyes
From ghastly sheaths of consciousness—
Repair this mended paradigm,
Or tell me that I am mistaken.
“Imaginary friends and foes
Make wretched hearts a wreath
Of roses red and mistletoe—
And bird of paradise to keep
Hope alive, alive and awake and well, hope alive…”
So each of us, a brimming cup
Of empathy, remained
To keep old pastor Wilmington—
Old usher, choir, teacher, congregation Wilmington
Alive and awake and well.
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 6:09 AM UTC
Metanoia begs the muse believe...
"Accept the current, do not fight the flow."
True, and known,
these aching limbs must
rest within the deepest ebb
- as the ocean swells
with each new
moon.
Drifting far
when floating; Sinking
deeply into crystal nothingness
- unless held by a sturdy rock,
tethered taut.
Promises sung, in rounds, stay...
Swirled upon a blushed summers breeze; Heard,
liberated, in flight's of birdsong
across sunset skies.
Connected distant energies may still
but for always, will burn brightly in each
& every shining light seen by
her sextant soul
[eyes]
on the
Voyage
ahead.
"Surrender the past & tomorrow comes...
un-blinkered,
never unbound."
~ ♥ ~
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 5:26 PM UTC
wise old owl awoke one day
and studied human habits
blinkered, busy, bussling,
stressed out racing rabbits
ever chasing,always racing
never gaining, life of straining
predictable futures, and the source
who's the wiser? cart or horse?
he gazed at our system
thought whats the point....
of hussle and bussle
then rolled up a joint
Mar 7, 2010
Mar 7, 2010 at 1:05 PM UTC
I did not change my day in anyway because of God or any other sod who poked his nose into my business
I got more or less but usually ****** all from sanctities sat in some easy chairs in hardship hall and telling me how to behave,
or pointing me in some direction expecting rehabilitation and perfection.
I changed because of you alone and how you changed me,
how could one man be so blind with blinkered eyes and not see kindness,love and honesty, that shone from you and into me.
Oh
how simple it now seems when dreams come true and you are here
how easy to slip off that coat of nonchalance and fear and wrap my arms around the arms that wrap around a man like me.
This could be the reason why I want to fly,to float,to sing and shout and wave my hands about
this could be my making and I am yours,here for the taking,take me now and show me how to love you true,to be at one with you and we could be that harmony.
I was imprisoned but now I'm free
and now I see,
the plan designed for me
included you
and you
alone.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 3:10 AM UTC
So arrogant and selfish
Only your opinion counts
What makes you perfect
There is no certificate
I want proof evidence
You are no better than me
Just different cowardly
That's what bothers you
My ideals are my own
As yours are those of others
Tiptoeing between guidelines
Peeping through that mask
Blinkered by conformity
It must be so simple
To judge others from afar
Hiding your honest self
For the sake of acceptance
Don't you sweat behind it?
Aug 2, 2011
Aug 2, 2011 at 6:48 AM UTC
I guess I'm lonely.
I guess I'm a little arrogant.
I guess my collar turns up to the wind
whilst blocking out the adverts
in my periphery.
I guess I blinkered myself
to keep things moving forward,
detaching from people
to find an honest word,
beyond fear of detection,
beyond hurting others
whilst I shatter into pieces;
making the stage the only place
where I can find a voice
choosing solitude,
as if I had a choice-
you know I never learned
how to drive a car,
I have walked so many miles
but I have never got very far.
I guess I'm lazy.
I guess I'm a little broken.
I guess I'm just a skeleton
of all the words I've left unspoken.
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
I'll tell you a tale
of our own Devil's Island
and the demonic crash
of the waves in a swell,
the smell and the taste
of the ball-breaking weather
the ghosts that deliver
poor sailors to Hell.
We were out in the water
amongst our Magdalens
the wind plucked the ropes
of our rigging at sea
we looked for a port
and saw many lights flashing
“that's old Devil's Island,”
said the skipper to me.
Ghosts began hurling
their fierce imprecations
to “come to the Island
safe landfall to thee”
but the skipper turned round
the ship with a vengeance
“that old Devil's Island
will never catch me.”
I thought he was mad
to be scared of a legend
it was my first time
in a storm on the sea
and two men washed over
to Davey Jone's Locker
“God bless 'em, they'll rest now”
the skip said to me.
Protesting the treatment
of two forlorn sailors
I said to the skipper
“It's not good to tell”
“It's better,” he said,
“that they're resting in Heaven
than entering into the portals of Hell.”
Winds lasted the night
then the voices did falter
the lights blinkered out
and I saw very well
so many rocks jagged
just waiting to smash us
The Devil's Isle gateways
await in the swell
If you're on a ship
and the voices of demons
come tell you it's safe
in their harbor alee
remember the shoreline
at old Devil's Island
then turn the ship seaward
and gracelessly flee.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 6:38 PM UTC
I think foolish best describes an intellectual's ways
I know it sounds ironic, but I'll enlighten you on what the world says Or rather what the world thinks
See, I grew up thinking that reading was learning
And learning was knowledge
And that knowledge was born from logic
And finally that logic was wisdom
Is it just me or did we all grow up in a society that was blinkered to view wisdom as education
With our minds blinded to see intellect as knowledge
Thinking knowledge is power, power is money and money is...well...everything
Well, money does answer all, but it is not everything
You see, mankind's intelligence never satisfies
The more learned we become the more the world slips away
The more knowledge we possess
The more the world becomes complex
We believe ourselves to be the I AM
With the power to know everything
We seek wisdom in philosophy
But it only makes us realize we are fools
That the wise don’t exist on earth
Unless we seek wisdom in the great I AM
And forget that earthly knowledge is power
Well, knowledge is power, but WISDOM
Wisdom is ETERNITY
It is the eternal life that we're all working towards
The life that that thief on the cross had to look forward to
Only because he was wise enough to recognize his salvation and his Saviour
So, dear stewards, the best that you can give your children is not a Harvard or Oxford kind of education
The most valuable gift is not the concept of making money
The best that you can give to those in your care is wisdom
This wisdom is the knowledge of a man
Who abandoned His own kingdom
To die for foolish simple men
A man who stood before so called high judges
Yet He was the Most High
A man who humbled the proud
And used the foolish things to shame them
For His word says that even His foolishness
Is greater than our wisdom
For His thoughts are not our thoughts
Neither are his ways our ways
So, all I'm saying is
The most valuable legacy that you can leave
Is the knowledge of the One with all the wisdom,
The wisdom to choose God
For we only find wisdom when we realize, we are nothing but fools before Him
Miss Fit
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 1:09 PM UTC
you say you stand for democracy,
but do you really know the meaning of the word?
you tell me he was a dictator, yes there were 18 elections, but all of them were rigged, he was corrupt,
but tell me,
is not this system worse?
where a party can only stand if it has the money to launch a campaign, where votes are bought by those with the wealth, only looking to protect their own interests?
you have chosen to directly ignore all of the evidence placed before you
that tell you you're wrong;
he could not have had an agenda when he described the democracy you hate so much as "the most perfect democracy he's ever seen",
you've ignored every piece of legislation he passed, all to give rise to greater democracy to the real people of the country
and you tell me there's political repression when there were 80% turnouts and over 30 other parties in each of those elections.
you are so blinkered by those walls around your mind
you don't want to accept that he could have done it better than you
because you know that once you acknowledge that,
once the world acknowledges that
all you built for you
and that other 1%
will be taken from you,
as it should have been long ago.
i don't know how it's going to happen,
not now, not in this lifetime,
but in lifetimes to come,
people will be taught that the meaning of the word
democracy
lies in demos, the people
and that those big conglomerates,
no matter how much money they have,
are not the demos.
that there is more to life than your capital accumulation;
their health, their education; their basic human rights
are, and always will be, more important than how many zeroes
are written in your will,
and that no matter how much they drill it into you,
you are beautiful, you are unique, you are important
so stand tall and proud, hands on heart
because there is more to life than the money you make.
how this will be taught, i do not know,
but as a starter, maybe we could try teaching the cats themselves
that there is more they can do for the world
than sit on thrones of gold,
and there is more to life
than how many carats they have,
and i think a brilliant way to teach this
would be to **** all of their friends and family
until they realise that money isn't all that important,
and however malicious an act that would be,
i could rest safe in the knowledge that my death toll
would not be a fraction of theirs.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 11:22 AM UTC
To my dark scar, my black mark,
The shadowy spectre that follows,
you have constantly fought me down.
But know - I will not stand for it anymore.
I will reduce you to lower than anonymity
you are less than a stranger or an enemy
I will stare straight through you
you are not even nothing to me.
I no longer believe the lie that I need you
I will deny you the attention that feeds you
You are no more my inspiration or my muse
instead I choose to see things differently.
You will not be beautified or elevated,
You will not be derided or hated,
I won't dignify you with a single thought,
but, from now on - I will stand above you.
I am greater than the pin ***** of your existence
my heart beats with strength and persistence
You will not longer be the fear that lies in me
I will see the truth shining behind your darkness
You have tried to take my living breath
but I have already hit the depth of depths
and you can do me no more pain -
time and time again I will find my feet
and though you may bring me to tears
and poke my imagination with a thousand fears
I will not bow to you, my eyes are fixed on something higher,
and I will be wholeheartedly blinkered.
I will be me and that will be good enough
I won't measure myself by any of your should'ves
I will not blindly pursue an expectation of emptiness
instead I will profess my own self worth
I will see all of my differences - indifferently
they are beautiful and flawed but are unique to me
The rights to this story are paid for and they are mine
and I vow to myself that I will hold onto my pride
And when you rise up in me and begin whispering
when you are sat upon my shoulder - I won't be listening
I will block you out, I will sing above you
I will sing unashamedly because my voice is mine
and you will no longer dictate my course.
And when you are the brick wall standing in my way
And you try to cause my reason and my sanity to sway
I will rush you, I will break you and I will crush you
You will be no more than the dust beneath my feet
And I will run faster and stronger than before
And I know it won't be the last time I say this
But this will be my statement of intent and I will believe in it
And so right now, right at this moment
It ends.
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 12:19 PM UTC
[Proverbs 18:13
To answer before listening—
that is folly and shame.]
Listen -
no matter how impregnable
or how tall the border wall
how faint their call
no matter how great the chasm
between you and them
between your point of view
between your world view
and where they have taken their pew
- Listen
don't write them off
as blinkered
as closed minded
as none-so-blind
and don't be so quick
to assert you're the more
20 20 vision kind
- Listen
don't shame them
or be all too ready to belittle them
don't be dismissive of them
with no respect for them
and for what has led them and theirs
to their honestly held position
- Listen
assume their good faith
and in a space that's safe
assume a position
of good natured
mutual consideration
and seek mutual revelation
of God-given wisdom
-Listen
and as you clear
that common ground
you are bound to build
a safer compound
a creator-shared hallowed ground
where the heard are found
while bound for wisdom
together
Jul 18, 2019
Jul 18, 2019 at 2:34 PM UTC
The burglars had been observing the bungalow
set in an out of the way place.
Smart expensive cars parked on the small drive
but they didn't observe well!
Certain this would be a profitable break in
their planning could begin.
The bungalow down a long narrow track
owned by a middle aged couple.
Few knew they were devil worshippers
this gang failed to find out!
Not digging deep into the victims past
this job would be the last!
In the community locals kept well away
from this evil bungalow!
The thieves were only focused on money
they had blinkered vision.
Confident they would not be disturbed
and certainly not heard!
The large dark van was parked out of view
hooded men approached.
It was after midnight now in the garden
quietly making an entrance.
And dealing with the expensive alarm
it was going like a charm.
Though it all changed when they heard a sound
noises came from below!
Ignoring it they proceeded to search and steal
robed figures came from nowhere.
Overwhelming them and taking each by force
dragged to the sounds source!
More robed figures chanted from every corner
dimly lit by black candles!
It was some sort of temple with a central altar
the first was put on top!
Gagged so they could not shout or scream
something bright did gleam!
The bungalow looked peaceful in the morning
nothing looked out of place.
Guests staying had already gone before light
the couple left for work.
The van was removed from its parking spot
smoke blew from a chimney ***
Unless invited nobody visited the bungalow!
The Foureyed Poet.
Jan 30, 2012
Jan 30, 2012 at 9:19 AM UTC
When time becomes like a vapour,
The shape of one's self changes,
Lights that became burnt and warped,
Are an optimistic memory, angled at the future.
Hope, a vision still in sight,
But so blinkered in this vortex,
A maze so difficult to find footing or navigate,
But so delightful to ignore an easy to become marooned.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 4:59 PM UTC
*Fathered by a fantasy of ideal expectation
Nurtured by the fallacy of promisory’s sought,
Living out the lies of appearance as priority
Content in the hollowness of misconceptions taught.
Wafting through the days in a cloud of preconceptions
Drifting in a lifetime of falsehoods rendered loud,
Teetered on the brink of a precipice, precarious,
Arguing malfeasance in empty tones of proud.
Blinkered to collapse of society in freefall
Unseeing of the seething fraud which permeates the globe,
Blind to the bombing and the gunshots in the avenues
Sadly unseeing of unsightly flanks disrobed.
Perilously cloistered in a crowd of like admirers
Jostling for position in this flimsy house of cards.
Sipping pink champagne in a plume of sick pretentiousness
Ignoring words of warning with a haughty disregard.
Slipping to a flagfall in a shocking fall of failure
Slipping to a flagfall in a pall of choking dust,
Slipping to a flagfall in the hues of sad surrender
Sagging to oblivion in a staining sea of rust.*
Marshalg
Auckland NZ
May 1 2014
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 1:42 AM UTC
I walk in splendour
as others
have no shoes
on their feet
I indulge in gluttony
as others
have nothing to eat.
I travel in luxury sipping
champagne
others only have
***** water
to drink,
their stomach's
racked with pain
I live within a blinkered
society
whilst many with
cataracts
cannot see.
I know one thing
to be true
in the big divide
I would rather
be me than you.
©andrew Penman2012
May all gods children have food and shelter!
Dec 22, 2010
Dec 22, 2010 at 2:34 PM UTC
Why are there governments today so blinkered
and so narrow minded?
Intent on power and their self preservation
ignoring those suffering!
Amongst the people they should safely rule
but often oppressive and cruel!
Millions of refuges forced to flee across borders
unwanted into other countries.
Causing more threats and possibility of escalation
Because they have their troubles to.
that endless cycle of never ending brutality
will remain a shocking reality!
A process to most of the humans that's unacceptable
when these wars spread!
With nuclear weapons that could be used
where nobody can win.
But through this misery to many do proceed
it's the psychopathic breed!
Our society still survives but with uncertainty
at what could happen.
World finances crashing more becoming poor
yet even more billionaires.
Anger and discontentment begins to fester and blow
what happens tomorrow we don't know!
If these government attitudes stay the same
when it happens none will take the blame!
But of course by then it will be too late!
The Foureyed Poet.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 9:54 PM UTC
My philosophy
It works so well for me
Its not pretentious
Its not malicious
Its not counter productive
And best of all its more than simple
My doctrine not a bore
Not there to bring you to your knees on the floor
No paraphernalia
No reason to wear something so particular
Not lost in ancient beliefs or mystical myths
No concerns with blinkered visions
And no indecisive socially infected transitions
I have though, with great sorrow, great regret
Begun to imagine that I'm the one who hasn't quite got it yet
And my philosophy
Has become the fantasy
A Utopia I would guess
That obviously fails, globally, to impress
My dreams are sour, freedom apparently will never be free
And the life we all play out is but a parody
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 11:30 AM UTC