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Viji Vishwanath Nov 2019
We humans have
Lots of silly excuses
All the time
From dusk to dawn
And in all seasons
Whether spring or autumn
And if winter or summer

We always complain for
What we don’t have
Lacking this and that
And so on..

But we never
Count our blessings
Our mind
With no retardation
Our eyes
With no blindness
Our ears
With no deafness
Our tongue
With no dumbness
And our body
With no disability at all

Even though
Most of us
Believe that
We are not talented
And lack so many skills
But we never think
How a disabled person
Got so many vibrant calibers

Some can write
With legs
Some can dance
With one leg
Some can swim
With no legs and arms
Some can paint
With no vision
And all that
Mind blowing talents
With such disabilities
Is something
To learn about

But have we
Ever thought
Why can’t
We have that abilities
And the reason is
We don’t have an urge
To do anything
We have lots of facilities
Around us
And thus we don’t need
To sharp our brains

We live in pleasures
Like in a full swing
And thus
We don’t know
The pain of a
Handicapped
The darkness
Of a blind
The communication barrier
Of a dumb
The hearing impairments
Of a deaf
The financial constraints
Of a poor
And the loneliness
Of an orphan

We humans
Born as ordinary
And thus
No need to think
As extraordinary
We mostly learn from
Our mistakes
And so about the
Urge for it

When we get  
A sincere urge
It results to a
Turning point in life

So why can’t we
Challenge our disability
And make it an ability
Let’s rebound our abilities
To make it a miracle
And enjoy the worthiness of
This graceful life
Make your disability as an ability and see the miracle of graceful life
Michael W Noland Jul 2012
I am merely a poet

a writer

an igniter of fire

the designer of a prior desire to admire the harmonious choir

but quick to tire of contriving liars

as the potential buyers hold strangulation wires

about to lay me in a pile of blood soaked fliers until my life expires

and all this illusionary harmony is alarming me

stalling me in its comedy

they think they're disarming me with talks of peace and prosperity

as i hilariously smash their conspiracy theories

as i am seriously furious when i deliriously remove the sanctity from your sanctuaries

sketching lucid rhymes in obituaries as corrupted school kids watch me curiously

i see your timid hands when you approach me nervously

as i hiss cyphers murderously

while you atrociously fumble satisfactory rhymes

i miraculously summon these mumbling mimes

ducking before the holy and unholy shrines

no god but father time

laying low tumbling dimes

still ducking swine from misdemeanor crimes

making local news and the seattle times

as they run and hide with their nines

im packing verbal calibers of all kinds and splitting minds with my lines

enshrined
Amaranthine May 2017
Oh I love crying....
For
Different calibers,
With
delicate moods.....

Oh I love crying...
Weeping for empathy,
Whimpering with ache,
Sobbing for despair,
Sniveling with pain,
Howling for anger,
Bawling with regret,
Wailing for griefs,
Whining with complaints,
Mourning for death,
Mewling with craves...

Oh I love crying.....
Wings of cry
floats me up
over the river of
sorrow & delight
Freeing me away
From
All.

Oh I love crying.....
Shoes of cry
Keeps my feet
On the earth
With freaking control
Holding me away
From
All.

Oh I love crying.....
Spiral & twisted
With shoes & wings
In middle of trauma
Swaying on swings
Away from
All.
Oh I love crying.....
#cry #trauma
Gemini pen Aug 2020
Title: Caeser at Lucifer's Mission
Theme: The Aesthetic of Poets
A duet by : Prince Jayeola ( Golden Son)
                   :  Fuad Opeyemi (Gemini)

Solid heart like the mountain Everest
Circumflex to the Raven, Bring up the agon
in our midst, Like a dove,  we still remain
Challenge come about us
Still,  we overcome the hurdles like hills
               🙇Golden son 🙇

Kvell Cadres of scrivener,  
Harness styluses to tattoo on thin sheets
Poets,  goblet of endowment,
Pivoting throe to gladdened symphony
Soothing the ear of grief dwellers
                 🙇Gemini🙇

Clear out barrel of hate,  
Come apart,  enmity show less on our ballad
We do not bow down to race
Rather,  we propel with grace,
With the sound of humour our poem emit
                🙇Golden son 🙇

The pen,  like a magicians's wand
Exploited by calibers of Versified bards
With a tip so sharp,  running in ink
Cynosure of Prying eyes,  like a drop -
Of dew on spinach, poet are Aesthetic
                🙇Gemini🙇  

We are "they are who? ",  certainly!
Armed to the teeth with our pens
Thinking of ill- hearted hearts to heal
As we dance to the dead beat of our bleeding pen
No,  tell the man in the street to flow off our den
                🙇Golden son 🙇

Rhymester's way is Slim and Narrow,
Like a thoroughfare to Gehenna
For we dine with words, A minstrel
muser are hero,  resident of valhalla,
For we are the fighter,  that fight with pen
                🙇Gemini🙇

We stand in the racket of ranks
And fight to mind our p's and q's,
Hardly do we hit below the belt
To avoid disruption of poets that que
We stand tall and play the game
                  🙇Golden son 🙇

Poets are Aesthetic,  alluring
That travaux over the lava-like ways of poesy
We are all a product of our genre
Yet,  living in the facade of exultation
Delusional,  caeser at Lucifer's Mission
                   🙇Gemini🙇

©Pen Of A True Gemini™
The bleeding Hearted Pen
©Prince Jayeola™
The Golden son

All rights reserved
This is a must read for all poets
Robert Guerrero Mar 2019
A crowd slowly creeping in
Flocks of let loose nobody’s
Interested only in good times
Pretty woman
Sleek men
Beads cups potatoes and cabbage
Where every minute is a party
Thundering on every block
Horns of 18 wheelers
Floats lugged around
Marching bands of different calibers
Music weakening worries
Life couldn’t get better then that moment
For once a stranger is a neighbor
And what you don’t catch
Will surely be a laugh
As someone else gets pelted
Kisses from women having fun
Men try to loosen the ladies
Flowers for kisses
Dance moves from grandma
And without a doubt
The kiddos have more then enough to do
Throw me sumthin mista
Throw me sumthin sista
An echo of calls
Hungry for more fun
Might not be Mardi Gras but the Irish-Italian Parade was fun and close enough
Alfred Hitchcock's best film was Notorious. Stephen King has become a brand name. I doubt that he writes anything other than story outlines for ghost writers to expound upon. V.C. Andrews (Cleo Virginia Andrews, June 6, 1923 – December 19, 1986) is still writing tomes. Her mega-productive years are yet to come. I can't find an affinity with today's Western culture. I am pulled to the East. Much of what I enjoy emanates from the Orient, from music to women; to musical, Mongoloidal women. The last novel I read was The Decay of the Angel by Yukio Mishima (which was his last novel, finished the morning of the afternoon that he was beheaded). Feng Shui leads to astrological considerations that tire me to panic, because I'd have to be mindful of the placement of beds with relation to the flow of piped water. I've planted 2 dozen trees. Their location relative to topography must be considered. A picture of my wife's family fell from the wall & shattered the day she was to depart for Vietnam. She went anyway. Nothing came of it. Nancy planned Ronald Reagan's trips around stellar meanderings. He got shot all the same. Yoko did likewise with John Lennon. He got shot with 2 calibers of bullets: .357 & .38, and his autopsy records remain sealed to the public still yet. I live 35 miles from the spiritualist camp town of Cassadaga, Fla. I visited there once (in 1983). I'll not go back. Bad vibes.
5 bullets went into John Lennon, of 2 (different) calibers:
.357 & .38 and the lone shooter WAS NOT put on trial.
Pushing Snob
Pushing on Engines – and
Accelerates
What is on Waterland
Air restraints,

Spirituality
Spears to enable,
Stinking Banality
Granting its Cable!..

Scornfully, torturingly
Mixture’s alive:
Proves always cowardly
What’s put in Hive

Of Wasps, addicted to
Parasitism –
Suicidiluters’
Dreams and Charisms!..

Wealthy Impoverished
Points and revolves:
Calibers, Calories
Burning with ******,

Touchingly, tastefully
Trying what throbs –
Spoiling and wasteful he
Is, Mighty Snob!..

— The End —