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"--you know, I've either had a family, a job, something
has always been in the
way
but now
I've sold my house, I've found this
place, a large studio, you should see the space and
the light.
for the first time in my life I'm going to have a place and
the time to
create."
no baby, if you're going to create
you're going to create whether you work
16 hours a day in a coal mine
or
you're going to create in a small room with 3 children
while you're on
welfare,
you're going to create with part of your mind and your
body blown
away,
you're going to create blind
crippled
demented,
you're going to create with a cat crawling up your
back while
the whole city trembles in earthquakes, bombardment,
flood and fire.
baby, air and light and time and space
have nothing to do with it
and don't create anything
except maybe a longer life to find
new excuses
for.
The push is a telling time
I must not fall
I must not be crippled

Keep my head together
break all I have ever done before
never to be crippled

Push it to the limit
break you best and do more
hurt to your nearly crippled

Have no mercy
have no fear
run to ground
and never be crippled

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Since they crippled me,
I thought I’d grow wings.
Though I don’t remember how it felt when I first walked
But I still remember my last walk.
I still remember how the grass felt under my naked feet
I remember putting on shoes the last time I walked
I remember running and being taller.
These are now just my memories
And since they crippled me,
I thought I’d grow wings.

Am I diseased that you’re treating me ?
Did I do something wrong that you’re looking down on me ?
Am I a helpless animal that you’re showing me pity ?
You think you’re being empathetic but its still sympathy
But the wind against my face is a symphony
As I grow wings
To feel the wind in my hair
To feel the equivalent of running
I feel the fresh air fill my lungs
Even though I am crippled,
I grew wings.

Since I grew wings,
I can see the crippled me
Lying there in peace and in silence.
I can finally see the smile that had been lost
Since they had crippled me.
Richard Riddle Jan 2014
Perhaps, the most profound poem I have ever read



There are too many saviors on my cross,
lending their blood to flood out my ballot box with needs of their own.
Who put you there?
Who told you that that was your place?

You carry me secretly naked in your heart
and clothe me publicly in armor
crying “God is on our side,” yet I openly cry
Who is on mine?
Who?
Tell me, who?
You who bury your sons and ******* your fathers
whilst you bury my father in crippling his son.

The antiquated Saxon sword,
rusty in its scabbard of time now rises—
you gave it cause in my name,
bringing shame to the thorned head
that once bled for your salvation.

I hear your daily cries
in the far-off byways in your mouth
pointing north and south
and my Calvary looms again,
desperate in rebirth.
Your earth is partitioned,
but in contrition
it is the partition
in your hearts that you must abolish.

You nightly watchers of Gethsemene
who sat through my nightly trial delivering me from evil—
now deserted, I watch you share your silver.
Your purse, rich in hate,
bleeds my veins of love,
shattering my bone in the dust of the bogside and the Shankhill road.

There is no issue stronger than the tissue of love,
no need as holy as the palm outstretched in the run of generosity,
no monstrosity greater than the acre you inflict.
Who gave you the right to increase your fold
and decrease the pastures of my flock?
Who gave you the right?
Who gave it to you?
Who?
And in whose name do you fight?

I am not in heaven,
I am here,
hear me.
I am in you,
feel me.
I am of you,
be me.
I am with you,
see me.
I am for you,
need me.
I am all mankind;
only through kindness will you reach me.

What masked and bannered men can rock the ark
and navigate a course to their annointed kingdom come?
Who sailed their captain to waters that they troubled in my font,
sinking in the ignorant seas of prejudice?

There is no ****** willing to conceive in the heat of any ****** Sunday.
You crippled children lying in cries on Derry’s streets,
pushing your innocence to the full flush face of Christian guns,
battling the blame on each other,
do not grow tongues in your dying dumb wounds speaking my name.
I am not your prize in your death.
You have exorcized me in your game of politics.

Go home to your knees and worship me in any cloth,
for I was never tailor-made.
Who told you I was?
Who gave you the right to think it?
Take your beads in your crippled hands,
can you count my decades?
Take my love in your crippled hearts,
can you count the loss?

I am not orange.
I am not green.
I am a half-ripe fruit needing both colors to grow into ripeness,
and shame on you to have withered my orchard.
I in my poverty,
alone without trust,
cry shame on you
and shame on you again and again
for converting me into a bullet and shooting me into men’s hearts.

The ageless legend of my trial grows old
in the youth of your pulse staggering shamelessly from barricade to grave,
filing in the book of history my needless death one April.
Let me, in my betrayal, lie low in my grave,
and you, in your bitterness, lie low in yours,
for our measurements grow strangely dissimilar.

Our Father, who art in heaven,
sullied be thy name.
Richard Harris, actor, Irishman, wrote this, pertaining to the protestant-catholic conflict in the sixties and early seventies,
Laura Robin Nov 2012
from the mind of an anxious depressive

from the time i, as a little girl,
dressed up like a princess
[tiara and all,
pouffy, pink dress and all]
listened to my mother tell me
a fairy tale
of a woman who finds
her prince charming,
and is rescued by him,
and lives happily, happily ever after
in a magnificent palace by the sea…
and i, as a brooding teenager,
insecure and reclusive,
observed a
[now viewed as ridiculous]
romantic film
about a woman who finds her
one true Love,
and he rescues her,
and they live happily, happily ever after
in a beautiful three-bedroom home
where they raise two,
perfect children…
and i, as a young woman,
fully aware and adept,
recognizing the world for what it is
as *i
see it,
seeing love dismantle time,
and time again....

i am fully aware that nothing can possibly last for a happily ever after.

the doubt is consuming,
the wall is well-built and
unyielding.
my heart remains too crippled
to possibly endure the grief that
falling in Love elicits.

but,
Love finds you even if you have
given up the notion of it.
it gallops in on its white horse.
has bright blue eyes.
sparks a smile that can illuminate
my somber heart.
has no regard for my opposition to itself.
is selfish and greedy and exhausting.

it is utterly impossible to avoid
being seduced
into the black hole
from which i will never leave
precisely the same.
from which i will surrender
a piece of myself
essential to my functioning.

Love sweeps in like a tornado
[destroying everything in its path]
and so the five stages of falling in Love,
and falling apart,
begin.

denial.
i feign disinterest.
i pretend as if he doesn’t
engross my thoughts
as if my heart doesn’t encroach upon my stomach
when he enters the room.
if asked by a friend,
“why does your face turn bright red
when he dares to utter your name?”
i pretend like she is the insane one
[when i am the one denying my heart.]

anger.
i become enraged.
Love has taken control.
the knowledge that i let Love
dismantle the wall,
that i have spent years building,
and reinforcing,
[brick by brick, piece by piece]
infuriates me.
i let him gradually demolish it.
and now i am powerless and susceptible,
and now he has me by the heartstrings.
he holds me in his greedy palms.

bargaining.
i avoid the fact that i am falling,
yes, i am falling.
oh, so deeply for him.
i watch myself fall from such great heights
straight into the ground
crashing through to the
center of
the world.
i even pray to God,
the one i'm not even sure i believe in.
i tell Him that i would do anything,
anything just to take back control.
to have two firm hands on the wheel.
to be the driver
instead of the passenger.

depression.
i cannot bring myself
to shove off the covers.
to crawl out of bed.
i am miserable and helpless and
he is all i can think about.
he is my first thought
when i am awake.
my last when my mind
finally tires of him,
and i fall into a
fitful night of sleep.
yet, i do not tell him any of this.
he wonders why i am so distant,
so removed from him.
what he does not know is that
he carries part of myself with him
wherever he goes.

acceptance.
when my nerves have finally worn themselves down,
when my heart has reached an understanding with my mind,
when Love does not appear as something to be grieved,
that is when i fall in Love.

never once have i
accepted Love from a man,
Love that could alter
my melancholy mind,
nor have i trusted a man with my heart.
[although i have been forced by Love itself to relinquish it.]

i have been obstinate and headstrong
and refused to give all of myself
in fear of losing myself.
but maybe one day, i will be
rescued from myself.
I.

Thou aged unreluctant earth who dost
with quivering continual thighs invite
the thrilling rain the slender paramour
to toy with thy extraordinary lust,
(the sinuous rain which rising from thy bed
steals to his wife the sky and hour by hour
wholly renews her pale flesh with delight)
—immortally whence are the high gods fled?

Speak elm eloquent pandar with thy nod
significant to the ecstatic earth
in token of his coming whom her soul
burns to embrace—and didst thou know the god
from but the imprint of whose cloven feet
the shrieking dryad sought her leafy goal,
at the mere echo of whose shining mirth
the furious hearts of mountains ceased to beat?

Wind beautifully who wanderest
over smooth pages of forgotten joy
proving the peaceful theorems of the flowers
—didst e’er depart upon more exquisite quest?
and did thy fortunate fingers sometime dwell
(within a greener shadow of secret bowers)
among the curves of that delicious boy
whose serious grace one goddess loved too well?

Chryselephantine Zeus Olympian
sceptred colossus of the Pheidian soul
whose eagle frights creation,in whose palm
Nike presents the crown sweetest to man,
whose lilied robe the sun’s white hands emboss,
betwixt whose absolute feet anoint with calm
of intent stars circling the acerb pole
poises,smiling,the diadumenos

in whose young chiseled eyes the people saw
their once again victorious Pantarkes
(whose grace the prince of artists made him bold
to imitate between the feet of awe),
thunderer whose omnipotent brow showers
its curls of unendured eternal gold
over the infinite breast in bright degrees,
whose pillow is the graces and the hours,

father of gods and men whose subtle throne
twain sphinxes bear each with a writhing youth
caught to her brazen *******,whose foot-stool tells
how fought the looser of the warlike zone
of her that brought forth tall Hippolytus,
lord on whose pedestal the deep expels
(over Selene’s car closing uncouth)
of Helios the sweet wheels tremulous—

are there no kings in Argos,that the song
is silent,of the steep unspeaking tower
within whose brightening strictness Danae
saw the night severed and the glowing throng
descend,felt on her flesh the amorous strain
of gradual hands and yielding to that fee
her eager body’s unimmortal flower
knew in the darkness a more burning rain?

                    2.

And still the mad magnificent herald Spring
assembles beauty from forgetfulness
with the wild trump of April:witchery
of sound and odour drives the wingless thing
man forth in the bright air,for now the red
leaps in the maple’s cheek,and suddenly
by shining hordes in sweet unserious dress
ascends the golden crocus from the dead.

On dappled dawn forth rides the pungent sun
with hooded day preening upon his hand
followed by gay untimid final flowers
(which dressed in various tremulous armor stun
the eyes of ragged earth who sees them pass)
while hunted from his kingdom winter cowers,
seeing green armies steadily expand
hearing the spear-song of the marching grass.

A silver sudden parody of snow
tickles the air to golden tears,and hark!
the flicker’s laughing yet,while on the hills
the pines deepen to whispers primeval and throw
backward their foreheads to the barbarous bright
sky,and suddenly from the valley thrills
the unimaginable upward lark
and drowns the earth and passes into light

(slowly in life’s serene perpetual round
a pale world gathers comfort to her soul,
hope richly scattered by the abundant sun
invades the new mosaic of the ground
—let but the incurious curtaining dusk be drawn
surpassing nets are sedulously spun
to snare the brutal dew,—the authentic scroll
of fairie hands and vanishing with the dawn).

Spring,that omits no mention of desire
in every curved and curling thing,yet holds
continuous *******—through skies and trees
the lilac’s smoke the poppy’s pompous fire
the *****’s purple patience and the grave
frailty of daises—by what rare unease
revealed of teasingly transparent folds—
with man’s poor soul superlatively brave.

Surely from robes of particoloured peace
with mouth flower-faint and undiscovered eyes
and dim slow perfect body amorous
(whiter than lilies which are born and cease
for being whiter than this world)exhales
the hovering high perfume curious
of that one month for whom the whole years dies,
risen at length from palpitating veils.

O still miraculous May!O shining girl
of time untarnished!O small intimate
gently primeval hands,frivolous feet
divine!O singular and breathless pearl!
O indefinable frail ultimate pose!
O visible beatitude sweet sweet
intolerable!silence immaculate
of god’s evasive audible great rose!

                    3.

Lover,lead forth thy love unto that bed
prepared by whitest hands of waiting years,
curtained with wordless worship absolute,
unto the certain altar at whose head
stands that clear candle whose expecting breath
exults upon the tongue of flame half-mute,
(haste ere some thrush with silver several tears
complete the perfumed paraphrase of death).

Now is the time when all occasional things
close into silence,only one tree,one
svelte translation of eternity
unto the pale meaning of heaven clings,
(whose million leaves in winsome indolence
simmer upon thinking twilight momently)
as down the oblivious west’s numerous dun
magnificence conquers magnificence.

In heaven’s intolerable athanor
inimitably tortured the base day
utters at length her soft intrinsic hour,
and from those tenuous fires which more and more
sink and are lost the divine alchemist,
the magus of creation,lifts a flower—
whence is the world’s insufferable clay
clothed with incognizable amethyst.

Lady at whose imperishable smile
the amazed doves flicker upon sunny wings
as if in terror of eternity,
(or seeming that they would mistrust a while
the moving of beauteous dead mouths throughout
that very proud transparent company
of quivering ghosts-of-love which scarcely sings
drifting in slow diaphanous faint rout),

queen in the inconceivable embrace
of whose tremendous hair that blossom stands
whereof is most desire,yet less than those
twain perfect roses whose ambrosial grace,
goddess,thy crippled thunder-forging groom
or the loud lord of skipping maenads knows,—
having Discordia’s apple in thy hands,
which the scared shepherd gave thee for his doom—

O thou within the chancel of whose charms
the tall boy god of everlasting war
received the shuddering sacrament of sleep,
betwixt whose cool incorrigible arms
impaled upon delicious mystery,
with gaunt limbs reeking of the whispered deep,
deliberate groping ocean fondled o’er
the warm long flower of unchastity,

imperial Cytherea,from frail foam
sprung with irrevocable nakedness
to strike the young world into smoking song—
as the first star perfects the sensual dome
of darkness,and the sweet strong final bird
transcends the sight,O thou to whom belong
th ehearts of lovers!—I beseech thee bless
thy suppliant singer and his wandering word.
Trusting you is not hard.
The rest of the world, now, that’s a different matter.
But I trust you, as I trust the Sun to rise,
Feel free to hide.
Sometimes words fail us,
We cannot find the truth within.
Afraid, we feel unworthy,
Our need is overwhelming,
Crippled with self-doubt, words betray us,
But our hearts are as honest and true as the shining moon.
Fear not, I will always be here.
Sometimes I hide behind the clouds
But I will re-emerge to warm you,
Take heart, I would trust you with my life.
Adam Schwab Dec 2012
I see through your soul. It’s aching with hurt. Camouflaged skin and a crippled rebirth
An angel of few that’s fallin to earth.
If only if only I could step in her light. And be known by her mind and saw through her sight.
I’d be that man to hold her tight. I don’t knowif it will but maybe it might.
So don’t walk around with feeling of hurt.
You’re an angel of few who’s fallin to earth

Don’t get discouraged when times get tough. Even if it feels like god has you in cuffs
Break loose of the chains that bind your path. He means no harm when showing wrath
But the men you been with are idiopaths

If only if only I could step in her light. And be known by her mind and saw through her sight.
I’d be that man to hold her so tight. I don’t know if it will but maybe it might.
So don’t walk around with feeling of hurt.
You’re an angel of few who’s fallin to earth

I question myself if feelings are true, I didn’t know that angel was you.
Few words can describe how I feel; when our fingers touched I knew love was real

Rose from the ashes of a crippled rebirth
A women I mean has fallin to earth
Forget all the losers with corny one line’s
Bound together by roses and vines.
An angel I love is finally mine
s y k Mar 2014
You left me stranded
in bleak oblivion,
Despite all the love
I planted in your core,
In faith for daffodils to bloom through your barren soul.

Your wielded words had crippled me time and time again
Paralysing my senses,
Until my sanity began to decay.

But now I've bled you out of my veins
And unto my paper for the last era,
Inking your name away
Untangling myself out of these chains.

The moment has come for me to let you go
After fifteen months, you’d think I already did so.
I'm finally letting you go after fifteen months of agony. I won't be writing about you any more.
Julian Jul 2016
Fragile egg-shell mind on dawn’s highway bleeding the segue between times traversed only in momentary dreams or in enduring excursions

We drag our droll and quaint 60s baggage like the luggage of a safari made of concrete girding a cavernous expanse of unheralded ground

With our ears oriented to the floor, we leap out of body never to deplore….never to ignore….never to miss the blue bus of our drafted imaginations, so carefully culled from brash elitism

I trounce the intervening time between being friendless and an ironic end, and an irenic comrade becoming the dearest amazed but always aplomb friend

We simper in our glorious traversal, and though bedraggled through an ornamented cavern we linger just long enough to be celebrated

Then a blues riff emanates from a vapid bar, and finally someone heralds my exhumed memory still rusty with the pavement of encased concrete on an empty or full tomb

So I wander in my mind to that roughshod Paris glassy tincture a romanticized gild of proper sensibility crafted in the tongues of lizards emulating the tongues of serpentine Anglicans

As the power of love transcends the love of power, both are afforded serendipitously upon the stately occasion of a fitful revolt where heads literally rolled and deaths still unfurl from the slippage of a violent malevolent eternity, crafting a new creative way to expedite the smite of preventable scourge

So Jim, I see your picaresque side and your wide-eyed love for a listless ship anointed of a crystal blip just detectable long enough on RADAR to become the statistic to crack the slim WHIP

No wigs are needed at this formality, no figs grow from trees forty-five years buried and almost a full month unsung

Pitiable cretins of an invented insanity, they scoff at my ravenous and portentous heart for its excess and for aligning with an upstart verging on only a specious insanity

Why in all humanity could a month be mustered with every defense of history and yet for it to be so widely flouted as a risible exercise in futility

The irony that the artistic glamor of a past vogue becoming a revival that is often toked only to one song but never to the memorial of great cavernous and commodious imaginations, staggers with dismay where otherwise the mayday would be a disaster but still a great day

Then I look at a triggered-fingered omen of a death so ominous yet so brazenly confronted as the ambassadors of time provide plaudits to a fearless martyrdom

Why such a sad spate, why such a stringent but malevolent fate a malediction on a family whose crest is not crestfallen like rolling waves but ornamented with gravity impounding its own weight

A fugacious tomb, an eternal flame, a swan song announcing an independent authority on a prescient demise mashed and deprived

A single shot rippling through the broadened space between clasped eternity and a histrionic disgrace as a psychological confederate pays lip service to a reiterative applause

A cousin hardly American in a defected record of incendiary plumes of a hoarse hatred of waxen discs and flying discs alike,  climbs out of a bonfire mounted purely out of vindictive spite

Then upon a great white buffalo a wrapped package of Californian love before California ever alighted like something beyond an avaricious dove, saw a rocky park and a hearth of illuminated darkness the singular spark

Captain Morgan knows the jackknife applause of a botched deal morphing into a disbelieved spiel. A shibboleth of enormous mystical weight crashing down from an ethereal abode and heaven heavily saddened cannot hardly appeal

Then a loving spoonful of crystal blue persuasion led me to Ethel’s regimented keepsake and for once in my life nobility and I became a grateful waif. But temerity laughed, splintered spacecraft, and the wooden paws of a bearish applause led to resurgent clarity

Blinking stars shattered by knighted and raw applause punctured the liberated might of a sentient hortatory savior grasped by the internecine wrench of a waxen time

An indie track slides by unnoticed in an aleatory time, and the threadbare whine of centuries of lament becomes a dastardly barn set ablaze with the fury of ancients and the scurry of faineant patents

Perfidy slides in recess, and in gentle forbearance the winged angel lingers like a halo on conifer and spring above a remedial ring

I dial frisky celerity tingling the dangling claws of a raven’s screed and in plunder of all history’s pilfer secrets I eagerly weave a tapestry Indiana Jones himself would be proud to watch

Not the riotous ruin of a mystery tour of verdure crippled by genocide but overcome by the revived life of raised rain razing the moments of indelible pain

But the culmination of a proffered time taken at its word for its every careened bird, for its every brazen gird. The manger of proctored stars calls us home tonight and home forever. Life in quaked timorous stumbles suddenly no longer so fitfully absurd.

The quixotic plundered of pirates and emperors in direct emulation of some crooned pastiche of whittled integrity, surges above any encased blurb and any vain testament to a pyramid rigid in destiny and ragged in desultory and sturdy sincerity

Multiplying the ineffable by the division of arable divorced from edible is too creative to be eaten as pabulum when sparks curdle flickered moonlight crimson and that become golden only to the last laugh of ennobled ragamuffins

Frankly the desert of melliferous gorillas abetting the lark of a heavily vetted camarilla engaged in the sinecure of a rigged wall on a main street to block the tall from the lame bleat. Stocks grazed, costs engaged on a littoral beach at the end of a Bossy promenade

This prayer is a cutthroat collapse of a merry spare, a ribbed ****** waiting to plunge into the antithesis of female despair, but sincere in its restraint that vixens courted in love aren’t courted in litigation of a wagered dare

Ambulances chase Deloreans through the desolate moon-stricken skies of a time agape with fleets of phantasmagoria on a Cliffside too wise to ever mince words or excise cries

Skulking the red-teared caverns of entombed films and lampooned tinctures on a passion vetted only for certain and utter deracinated disguise, I wallop with winged men in a single soul armed to the teeth with inveterate tithes to eternal internments of poached and endangered gazettes

As growth older in wizened skin bets on epithets rather than epitaphs for rinsed peace and triumphant clefts we leap above in orbit of only the bellowing nether of blown tolls and untold souls aggregating the esoteric grasp of Alexandrian tomes

The denumeration of certainty is a carousel of wonder, a splurge of time ripped asunder with majesties of paparazzi scuttled impacts a throttled iniquity of regalia’s indicted blunder frenchified but still clean with inestimable sheens

With twenty-five dollars, a dime an assist and a nickeled reiteration of currency already so personable it is divine and sublime in crazed desist I watch the embroiled natives clash in denatured violence with the warriors of a crossed repast hearkening to an old land much of ire but too much of grandstand to ultimately last

Itching for a holy field husk of peerless ties listed as rumpus and beer, a two-packed smoked by bludgeoned blokes careless in irascible sputters of a muffled doom, a Vegan becomes the author of too many sacrosanct homilies becoming defiled witchcraft brooms dead on arrival too many lionized tombs

In plaudits and the scause of an amplified “what if?” of an olfactory nightmare of petrified fog of effluvium bogged in Wade and in heat it is always clogged, sinewy libations of toasted preemptive revenge become a powerballed hog

A castle in the sky founded on Franklin but scourged of wineskins brimming with a distilled time, a swift repartee becomes the whispered ladder of saints blather becoming not rather other than a Dan Rather spatter

A door breeched by a broached inconvenience of amphigory beyond common reach, I clamber excess and whisk the lingered love into destiny beyond any word other than a beseeched preach of nothing tired but everything inspired of noble love with abundance often to teach

Fireworks of turned tides of fallow tithes to aliens beyond any conceivable bribe the bushwhacker writhes but survives staying alive without even a hint of garbled jive a 27th floor glass elevator is quite a resplendent ride

Wellsprings knowing radical rolled tides of errant dice also themselves guilty of confessional tithes to the monolith of avarice at the nooked cranny of an evaporated time we whine as the police sting the album rained with songs too lugubrious to sing but in their elegy every lonely heart has a propinquity phone of souled resonance ring

Iterative mastery of a mathematics of love, loss decay and the dross of a dental Occidental floss, the sweep of screened queues become questions of inestimable importance to foreign dues on a horse with no name but so consumed with fumes

A fright occultist thriller prowls in a waylaying daylight, masquerading an innocent confection for a rescued triage of a dawn stabbed with knives in our last dying days of trembled plight

He resurrects only the wraiths of detest, squinted at by the putrefaction of summoned cardiac arrest and littered with bullets that somehow can penetrate even impregnable bullet proof vests the wrapped carcass of the mummified husk of ready despair offers itself a ghoulish and raspy prayer

Synchronized in a low roaring swathe of rollercoasters too immersive to ride, the terpsichorean obscurantism of deliberately shattered fragments becoming blurbs dismissed with hijacked deride the carnival of a summer sun becomes the ocean of limitless love becoming endless fun

We forget the drawl of the droll old tales that haunt like specters in the closet and beneath the bedridden valetudinarian of an effrontery of shackled fright, we sprawl the innumerable caverns of prophetic insight afforded by the pantheon of history enter stage left, depart stage right

And with their insight I write and write, I grasp the tusk of democracy and wage an insurrection against the doubt of plodding limitations in otherwise immaculate sight

*** and tyrannosaurus rex, of litigable offenses leading to pardonable arrests, the gated entryway of a poetic splurge leads to the demiurge of a demotic enlightenment and suddenly the frank becomes the frazzled retirement and that haunting hounding bunny transmogrified by a shattered eye averts the car crash that careens ponderous engines out of limitless twilight blue skies.

Diamond lightning in pristine skies escorts the telegraphic totems of riddled modems from 1967 to 2016 and suddenly all venerable personages converge on a teeming scene of a union unified by a universal dream. To become everything and yet nothing and out of light and darkness to become a beatific beam
Tony Luxton Jan 2016
Their boat turned in towards us
ready to board our vessel
to take us to their island,
a fastness, craggy, bleak, treeless.

To winter peat fires, gales, darkness,
weird northern tales of gods and trolls,
black nights seared by bright light curtains,
a violent Viking heritage.

A place where cold sea and ocean
overturn the crippled sea stacks,
our lives in the boarding party's
hands and our skilful Shetland pilot.
RH 78 Nov 2015
Malnourished children
Them sunken eyes.
Impoverished families
With no supplies.
Homeless and begging.
No safety net.
Jobless youth
Riddled with debt.
Neglected elders
They deserve more
Our society, crippled with knees to the floor
Ken Jan 2016
You told me
it had no legs
it was time
to let it go
It was such a love
as I had never known 
complete 
bright and whole
as the full moon
You crippled it
at birth 
kept it hidden 
allowing only enough 
to keep it breathing 
while hiding it 
in shame
Abandoning it
then returning 
again, and again 
while I cradled 
its tiny heart
waiting 
I refused
to let it stop beating
though it had died 
so long ago 
I refused to see
it had been crushed
dead
under the weight 
of fear
in its infancy 
Resurrected 
by tender words
in a resolve
to nurture and grow 
full of hope
Then forgotten
as an addict’s promise
broken by words
left as a burden 
to the freedom 
that had always
been there for you 
It was crippled 
but I was blind
raw and unedited, first (and last) draft
ryn Oct 2014
Elated to see you aloft in the night sky
To what do I owe this enchanted boon.
In the merry company of winking stars,
Enthralled by this sight as I admire my moon.

Bathe me in your streaks of translucent silver.
Accompany me through my sleepless nights.
Watching over me with unwavering vigil.
Swathe me in whispers of peaceful respite.

Oh how you govern the raging tides of my soul.
Rest your gaze as the waters break upon my shore...
Erode and weaken the load strewn over my burning shoals,
Sands drowned breathless but craving for more.

Few nights now... Smitten as you coyly turn away.
Thick strands of shadow clad hair in gentle cascades,
Alluringly obscuring a slight fraction of your face.
A tiny crescent blanketed away; into the blackness it fades.

More nights pass... Now I see only a lesser moon
Leaving me with only half; darkness so had claimed.
Please make yourself last; you mustn't leave too soon,
I'm not ready to be left crippled and maimed.

I silently look up as more nights go by.
I watched my lunar love dissolving into space.
My heart too, torn away a morsel at a time...
Finally she had gone; without a sliver or a trace.

Every nightfall since is rife with emptiness and despair.
I asked the stars if they could soothe my gaping void...
But they'd only twinkle in indifference...
Regardless of the pleas I've employed.

Unsure of how many rises it has thus been.
Nights only brought the onslaught of mocking stars above.
Still I toy with the promises made overhead,
For the awaited return of my crazed elusive love.

I know it's frivolous to think I'm the only one...
There are others who pine just as I do.
But I yearn the most for your sought after attention,
For our hearts have sung in every colour and every hue.

Anxiety at peak, dismayed almost broken,
Then I hear a sweet song sung; distant and far.
A song that shared the words we once had spoken,
Again enveloped in translucent silver, with relief I sighed...,
                          *"There you are..."
Inspired by the lunar cycle...
Terry O'Leary Jan 2014
as the PROPHETS of profits, WE lead and WE’re fair
while WE’re living the life of the poor BILLIONAIRE
– silver yachts, pearly castles, cash (plenty to spare) –
with the world on OUR backs... ah! the burdens WE bear!

being HAVES (not the have-nots) as nature decrees
means WE’re certainly the better (they’re vermin on ******).
if they pray for a lift in their dark fantasies,
WE just kick ’em downstairs, get ’em off of their knees.

yes, WE offer great jobs (much too busy OURSELVES!)
for maintaining the toilets, restacking the shelves,
and WE teach ’em to fear god and play with the elves,
thus dispelling ideas where the dark demon delves.

though they build mighty bridges, twin towers and more,
peddle pizzas and popcorn, sell guns door-to-door,
still they gotta have BOSSES to tell ’em the score
else WE’d never be needed, WE’d thrive nevermore.

when OUR profits are plunging, they do their part too
for they dine on the dole! yes, no hullabaloo!
soon OUR fortunes  redouble, rebound and accrue –
since WE fare well without ’em, WE bid ’em adieu.

’stead of wishing for welfare and standing in queues
or parading with pickets (look! holes in their shoes!),
they’d be better off scabbing to save union dues.
while WE whistle and warble, they’re singing the blues.

whether heroes or hoboes, like spiders and lice
they just crawl all around us in life’s paradise,
but WE’re patient, big hearted and oft sacrifice,
spewing charity, kindness (though each has its price).

if they’re beaten or punctured or suffer assault,
are unhealthy or crippled or walk with a halt,
or ******* or helpless, it’s all their own fault –
just like US they should worship the DOLLAR exalt’!

protesters and loud mouths, you’ll find ’em aplenty
some older, some younger, the worst not yet twenty.
they’re shameless and brazen (unwashed, soiled and scenty)
impugning the prestige of brave COGNOSCENTI.

if they’ve got clashing colors (or shades in between)
or opposing beliefs in the hidden unseen,
well, WE’ll always exploit it, deflecting their spleen,
for with god on each side, would WE dare intervene?

WE maintain many methods to keep ’em in chains –
daily rags and the tube spin OUR circus campaigns:
“to pretend you’ve a voice”, an announcement explains,
“you can vote and decide on which ONE of US reigns”.

OUR policemen protect US, they stay on the ball
(they arrest ’em, no questions per law’s protocol,
and then jam ’em in jail with their backs to the wall) –
if you’ve lucre for lawyers there’s justice for all.

down the ROYAL road of justice WE march all alone
– WE condemn their defiance, set ways to atone –
since WE’re sinless, unsullied, WE cast the first stone
(while WE cloak REGAL fetor with eau de cologne).

politicians, bald bankers, grand idols galore,
attend meetings, fete banquets in which they explore
how to rid US of rodents (the weak and the poor) –
well, just round up the riff-raff, dispatch ’em to war!

ah! OUR wars are, well, just...... just a thing of the past
........... and the present............... and future... WE sure make them last!
if they frown as they gaze (Armageddon!) aghast,
then WE smile back with pleasure, OUR treasures amassed.

useless ranting and raving (in rags, when they’re clad),
leads to losing their teeth (my! their gums are... egad!).
WE’re unselfish, indulgent, WE’d never be mad
if they drowned in the sounds of themselves feeling sad.

as the paupers are princes in midnight’s domain,
they have pipe dreams to lose, certainly nothing to gain
if they’re hoping OUR fortunes will wither and wane –
for “WE’re here by god’s will” as WE often explain.

yes, they wish to be US, with OUR wisdom and grace,
keeping up with ol’ CROESUS, maintaining the pace.  
but perverseness or rancor? they’ll see not a trace –
for WE hold ’em at bay with a fist in the face.

WE’re la CRÈME de la CRÈME, yes! the proud UPPER CRUST,
and OUR clothes are the finest, OUR hair never mussed –
WE imbue ’em with piety, duty and trust
and they’re fed bread and water (if feed ’em WE must).

but they’re thieving, aggrieved, want a piece of OUR PIE
and request WE endure ’em, see EYE to black eye.
since they live in OUR land where OUR strict rules apply,
they must feast on the crumbs that We cast to the sty.

though OUR largesse and bounty WE don’t mean to flaunt,
yet the pittance WE pay ’em they surely can vaunt –
salty peanuts and pretzels (what more could they want?)
thereby keeping their kiddies so healthily gaunt.

yes, there’s room for the rabble (the back of the bus)
’cause WE treat ’em like equals, so what’s all the fuss?
all can rise to the top (yes! it’s always been thus),
to the suites in OUR penthouse (to sweep up and dust).

while OUR CHILDREN have tutors, the finest of schools
(being bred for the forefront, THEY’re nobody’s fools),
their own school of hard knocks teaches: “follow the rules”,
building brawn ’stead of brains and broad backs strong as mules’.

and to keep ’em in line (to ensure WE prevail)
WE now monitor phone calls and read all their mail
(civil rights? what a notion! at best a detail!)
and if worse comes to worst...... well...... guantanamo jail!

WE’ve OUR quandaries and questions and headaches full blown
(like deciding design and decor of OUR throne...
whether diamonds or rubies... to gemstones WE’re prone) .
when WE deign to appease ’em, WE chuck ’em a bone.

now you know all OUR problems, OUR pains and travails
– like preparing foreclosures, evictions  and sales –
but WE’ve no need for worries or gnawed fingernails,
’cause WE’re sailing OUR yachts through tempestuous gales
(with them bailing OUR banks when OUR stock market fails)
sipping daiquiri sours, champagnes, ginger ales.
:-)
siinli Oct 2018
She was broken, by herself
Not knowing the cost of what she did
Its hunting her, just like  her shadow
It is consuming her soul
Despite of all the run and escape, she will always be caught
She wished her death once, but the demons won't let it
She is suffering by her own, gripping on no one
She is standing on her feet by her own but she is now crippled by herself
—i was her
siin.li
Emily Feb 2014
You would always guilt trip me
Into believing that you were honest
You would get mad
When I spoke of wanting a new love
And what for
All you did was leave me in the end
By telling me you never loved me
And could never love me
You strung me along
Not for days
Not for weeks
But for months and months
You tortured me
Day after day
You went back and forth
Leading me to believe in a false hope
I was stupid to think
That you loved me truly
I knew how you were with others
You would lie
You would cheat to get ahead
I played the fool
By assuming you would be different with me
I treated you like a queen
And you treated me like I was nothing
And now I am here alone
With a broken heart
Can’t even leave this bed
Crippled to the core
With thoughts of you in my head
© Willa 2014
Chelsey Jan 2015
I'm like a tornado, spinning round
and round, bringing everyone down,
destroying whatever I touch.
When you look in my eyes,
do you see a tattered soul,
a crippled heart?
Or just the monster that I've become?
They say that what doesn't **** you makes you stronger,
but I am weak,
and I am tired.
All of this spinning has made me dizzy.

I'm like a tornado,  
bringing everyone down
in my righteous path of self-destruction.
Patrice Diaz Oct 2014
As I threw a rock in
The water crippled
Which only showed me
A blurred picture of myself

The blurred reflection
Reminded me
Of many things
Things that didn't want to be remembered

But it had to be done
I had to see
I needed to see
The person that I have become

Who I am now
Is not who I was yesterday
Or the month before
Or the year before

Right now, I am me
At the same time
Right now
I am not me

*I need to find my way back
Culpoetry Apr 2014
Discombobulated
beyond a miles’ worth
of snapped and razor-weight
wires, my roots have yellowed
and have split into insanity

My mind is crippled
By conditioning

Corruptive chemicals diffuse
shattering senses, imbalancing,
Dancing in an inverse orbit
Around this crumbling mind
For nausea and disorientation

My mind is crippled yet again
By the **** conditioning
Just to know I can't get a girl,
stabs my heart like a sword.
Girls are like climbing a mountain,
when you get to the top you get love.
Sometimes it takes a while
but other times its an easy climb.
I must have been heading up but got hit with a rock avalanche.
Now I am at the base of the mountain.
**Crippled.
Kudos to my friend, who wrote this poem. All i did was make one tweak and post it on Hello Poetry. Thanks!
SES Jan 2014
beginnings
i see how we are.
We are cute.
We are "perfect" as everyone tells us.
But i see one problem.
i don't know how to love You.

i thought it would be easy:
after all my trials and tears,
i figured that i could love someone
if they loved me too.
Now i find that is not the case.
Now i find that even now i am still broken,
trying to keep from bleeding into Your own wounds.
Do i walk around on tiptoes trying to please You?
Do i hold my tongue while You hold me?
Maybe that is how i comfort You-
by forsaking my own.
Maybe i will grow to be this girl.
Maybe comfort is something that comes with the passing of time.
Time.
It always comes back to that.

After all,
i had my doubts.
God knows they were plentiful.
But now i look at You as if he stars aligned in Your eyes.
Your brown eyes.
How strange for me to like someone without eyes that remind me of water.
Water always brought me comfort as well as fear.
Maybe that is why i am always so drawn to them.
But now, as Your hands mesh with mine,
the world meshes with understanding.
Things seem...
okay.
That hasn't happened in oh so long.
i may have had spurts of happiness.
A period of contentment here and there.
Okay is a much different feeling.
But beyond this touch, how do i comfort You?
Do i touch the deepest parts of Your consciousness?
Will i ever touch Your unconsciousness?

i see our story.
i can picture it enveloping
days
or weeks
or months
of our lives.
And maybe that just makes me a silly schoolgirl.
But you know what?
This time,
i don't care.
Hurt me.
End up hating me.
Break me like i've been broken before.
But right now,
hold me like i am everything you have ever wanted
because i am starting to think
that you are everything i need.
i've given You more than anyone has ever had from me.
Do not make me regret it,
that is my one request.
i've never been happier.
Please don't ruin that for me.
Continue to treat me like a princess because as cliché as it is,
it's a worthwhile surprise.

The way i've fallen for You-
oh it's a mystery.
i lose all reminiscence of self-control with i’m with You.
i never expected the happiness that accompanies Your name.
i wasn't aware that i had the option
to be happy;
to heal;
to love.
But that's what i have now.
This is my life.
Who would have thought i could be this content?
This okay?
When i look at You i see someone i could fall in love with.
But that terrifies me.
Please don’t make me fall in love with you.
We're both broken,
but maybe we can temporarily heal each other.

i never thought i would mean
anything
to
anyone.
Why would i?
i am nothing special:
an average girl with impossible dreams.
i didn't expect You to treat me so wonderfully.
i didn't think i deserved that,
so i didn't expect it.
But You,
lovely You,
made me see that i deserve to be treated like the person You see me as.
You keep saying that You are worried that You could be treating me better,
well i am here to say that You have treated me better than i ever imagined
and i couldn't ask for more.
i never saw myself as being respectable
or deserving of love.
Yet somehow You saw me from afar
and decided You would be the one
to open my lifeless eyes.

update: I'm still learning to love
i am not used to these emotions and it scares the heart out of me.
i’m scared of happiness.
How ****** up is that?

But let’s go back to what i’ve said before:
“How do i make You happy?”
i was never going to be good enough for You.
How am i supposed to measure up now?

i know:
i’ll hide the scars
to protect You from worrying.
That’s my gift to You.
And i hope You never have the chance to say
“thank you.”
Could You really not see?
You are so easy to fool.
I could put scars anywhere on my body
and you would ask the same question
"did I do that?"
What a life it must be to not know
what the marks mean when they are right in front of You.
Think.
No, You didn’t do them.
And they aren’t cat scratches, darling.
Think.

i may scare You away
and i may not have the strength
to beg You to stay.
i’ll try to be better for You.
i’ll try to be the girl You see.
i’ll try to give You everything You need.
But I won’t let You in, let You know,
when doing so would just confirm
what i’ve been saying all along.
i. Am. Nothing. Good.

i will never be good enough for You
and i will always be crippled by the fear
of disappointing You.
Those are the fears i have never been able to
escape.
You don’t get it.
i am not someone that You want to love.
And as guilty as i feel about that,
i hope You always stay blind.

The melancholy’s dragging me down.
Please don’t let it drag you down as well.
i’d rather let you go that do that to You.
Today, i’m sorry that Your friends had to be the ones
to open Your eyes to how much of a mess i am.
But i think we are all kind of crazy,
not just myself.
And occasionally there is someone who matches Your unique flavor of crazy.
Oh and then things become magical.

i have found that people (me) are funny.
They crave love,
but reject it because they think they don’t deserve it.
What kind of strange sense does this make?
How odd to pick a person to give yourself to.
You.
i pick You to love me.
And You to hurt me.
You to heal me.
And You to break me.
i hate that You know me.
You know every inch of my skin,
but i’m still keeping the gates locked on my heart and soul
for as long as i can.

i am afraid that when this is all said and done,
i will despise all the little things i love about You.
i mean if we think in terms of reality,
this is going to end completely and utterly wrong.
There is no other outcome.
So is there really a point?
Why be happy now
only to be crippled by pain later on?
Can’t You see the pain in my eyes whenever i hear those words?
The way You romanticize death terrifies me.
So much of You is unknown,
so much of us is questionable.
But for now all i want is something of Yours
so that when i’m scared of losing You,
or ******* this up,
i can put it on
and fall in love with the comfort.

You told me one night in a low voice
(the one You use when You both remember or anticipate pain),
“i don’t want to be the mistake you made in high school.”
Oh love, i can assure You that i will be Yours.

Forelsekt (Norwegian): the euphoria you experience when you are first falling in love.
Words are strange and language is beautiful.
i think You have even described me in such a way…

at least i was Your first something
I had a panic attack yesterday
as I was driving you around.
I was stupid and don’t worry,
I know I deserved it.
I made a mistake
and we could have paid.
It was the first one I had had
in such a long time.
And the first one I had had
in front of you.
I think it may have been the first you had seen too.
I’m glad I could be your first something,
even something as broken and chaotic a panic attack.
But isn’t that what we are?
We’re both a whirlwind of broken chaos.

As the panic took over,
all I could think,
and what made it all the worse,
is that you must have thought I was insane.
“Did I make a mistake with this girl?
Everything’s okay now.
Why doesn’t she just calm down?”
Only crazy people panic for such a long time
(and it was; it was the longest attack I had ever succumbed to).
Only crazy people start shaking even once they’re safe
(although I am sure you didn’t feel all that safe).
Only crazy people so desperately grasp for air that is easily accessible
(even I can’t explain it).

Once,
I had a panic attack in front of a boy before.
And you know what?
All he said was,
“It’s no big deal.
Just calm down.
Why are you freaking out?”
But that’s paraphrased of course.
It happened months ago and after that,
I promised to save my broken moments for solitary
because I could not deal with someone whom I cared about
not caring about me.
But you didn’t do that.
You were kind and you were calm.
And yes a little confused,
but that’s to be expected.

You’ll always take care of me, won’t you?
You’ll always protect me, won’t you?
I’m beginning to see that now.
Who would have thought that anyone
would ever want to care someone
so **** broken to the very core?
Not me,
that’s for sure.

Thank you darling,
for you words
and your actions that prove to a hard heart
that maybe love is real.
And maybe someday,
I’ll feel it too.
I want it to be you I fall in love with.
But right now,
I’m still closed in my tiny, claustrophobic cell
that I constructed around myself for the past few years.
I built it up with every harsh word,
and every bad day,
and every painful moment.
But if anyone can push through it,
babe it might be you.
So again, thank you
for you.

for you**
Is it really 2014?
Wow.
I made it this far.
That may be my greatest accomplishment.
It hasn't been easy.
Nature is telling me no,
and well nurture has yet to be a kind, nurturing force.
How much farther do you think I'll make it?
I won't die of natural causes,
of that I am sure.
Someday I will become the murderer of my own soul.
I still have most of 2014 let to live,
but how will I life it?
I can only hope it brings better luck than 2013 showed me.
In 2015 I'll be dragging myself through senior year,
and then off the dorm rooms and lecture halls.
Do you think I can survive that too?
I barely know where I want to go.
I barely know if I want to be alive to choose.
So how am I expected to think about the future,
if I am unsure that a future is what I want?

They used to say I was so strong.
I am beginning to think that "strong" is a jinxed term,
like "best couple" or "most likely to succeed."
Strong.
More like "tired, lost, and uninterested."

I made a promise to a very nice boy,
and I intend to keep it.
Here is what I have to say to him-
I won't hurt myself anymore.
I'll do that for you.
Much of the time, I don't want to live.
I don't really see the point to it all.
I've never been good at life
and I don't enjoy doing things I am not good at.
But you I will live for.
When I am with you,
I can see why people appreciate this whole thing called life.
I'll live for the day to day things that make me laugh,
because we all know that it's the little things that matter most.
I'll live for hope and a future,
that may or may not involve you
but I kinda wish it does.
I think that would be fun, don't you?

I thought I was a lost cause
but then you swooped  in and changed that.
You changed me.
So thank you.
I don't think I tell you that enough.
I.
Am.
Grateful.
For.
You.
So yes.
I'll live for you
because you taught me an crucial thing.
While everything may not be great,
things can still be good.
Laying next to you,
I feel safe.
Life for me is mostly a torrent of hits and misses,
of cards that I wish could have been dealt further apart.
But my life with you is... good.

I will live for no loner seeing your face contort into a terrified expression formed around puppy dog eyes as you ask,
"no more, please?"
while you trace the cuts on my arm.
I will live for days spent in your room because somehow we never get bored
(and I get tired of people at an alarmingly fast rate).

I will life for you because simply put,
I am in love with you.
This is our story, ever evolving
Born May 2017
she's a corrosive story
Hidden within a mirror
Never to be heard again

As I gulp down my favorite cheap *****
I wondered  with amazement at my ignorance
And the vicious adage that crippled me
love is blind

You were a ruthless callous soul
and still
remnants of your cold heart still linger in my thoughts
loving you was devastating
Brenda Nalugo Feb 2019
I feel crippled
Unable to walk away:(
I've been crippled by my past
The mistakes I made
The guilt I still feel
    I am crippled
Nathan Kwon Feb 2015
The crippled bull has yet to live Another Day
It proudly ambles on Year to Year
Its discordant song
Triumphant

Is an iron sword that clefts, rips apart The Age
Four hundred and thirty-two thousand
Times over and over
Gutting the

Detested coward and honored brave alike
‘Tis the stench of war and of hot oil
Quickly seeping o’er the
Horizon

With the armies aflame and howling for battle
Crimson red bloodlust and scarlet wrath
‘Tis the jewels that adorn
The tyrant’s

Crown, gleaming and fiery with authority
‘Tis the wedding bed of the wretch’d *****,
Defil’d, soil’d, forsook
No man can

Deny the captivating, luxurious tune
O mighty bull, your song may last from
age to age, and you may
Hobble on

your single leg

Bellowing
and roaring victory
and dominion o’er the nations
But even you must fall down, bow, and come to rest

At

the feet of

A humble

Lamb.
Kishamore Sep 2016
I am
a
benevolent  birdie
with
the crippled wings
of heart

flying in
the azure of
life

being nobody
to
everybody

even to
myself
.

© Kishamore
Lawrence Hall Aug 2019
“Ransomware Cripples Cities”

                            -a common headline

Ransomware never crippled an Olivetti
But a broken spring did so once or twice
So I carried the old machine to old Bill
Whose magic always made it fly again

Ransomware never crippled a cardboard file
Nor yet the flyleaf of the book in which
She wrote the kindest sentiment of love
In the sweet optimism of our youth

Ransomware never crippled who we were -
I did that to us when I walked away
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is: Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com

It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  THE ROAD TO MAGDALENA, PALEO-HIPPIES AT WORK AND PLAY, LADY WITH A DEAD TURTLE, DON’T FORGET YOUR SHOES AND GRAPES, COFFEE AND A DEAD ALLIGATOR TO GO, and DISPATCHES FROM THE COLONIAL OFFICE.
Wait, don't go!
It's all that I can say
I've fallen so low
It's been one heck of a day

I don't know what to do
I can't reach you
Not even a spec
Without you, I'm a wreck

I tried to run after you
But then I fell on the dirt and clay
And then I realized
My legs didn't work the same way

I can't remember how to walk
I've been crippled for so long
I didn't know how to stand on my own
Now I know, my perspective was wrong

My life didn't depend on you
I need to stand up and rise
And to cure myself
And soar in the skies
Ashley Centers Dec 2014
Let's hold out hope for the crippled.
Hope for the crippled?
No thanks, this crip doesn't need your hope.
This crip needs you to stop.
Stop labeling me.
Stop feeling sorry for me.
Stop pitying me and my 'poor life'
Just ******* stop!
No, really, I'm okay. I don't need you.
I don't need you or your miracles.
Don't tell me God works miracles
And to hold out hope
Because maybe one day I'll walk
Or maybe I'll get to see from both eyes
Because God works miracles
But you're too busy fixing what isn't broken that you forget
If I was truly made in his image this crip doesn't need healed.
This crip doesn't need your prayers or miracles.
This crip doesn't need your God or your salvation.
This crip doesn't need your hope.

Poor soul, she's diminished by her disability.
Diminished by my disability?
The only thing I'm diminished by
Is your inability to understand
That before anything else I am human.
I make mistakes and have flaws.
I feel, probably more than most,
And sometimes those feelings get in the way.
I empathize but I am done sympathizing.

You say my wheelchair is a blessing in disguise.
Why can't it just be a blessing?
A blessing that comes with lots of lessons.
Some that I learn the hard way and some that come easy.
But this wheelchair doesn't need a reason
To teach me (or you) a lesson.
Sure, it frustrates me when a wheel breaks or I fall on a broken sidewalk
But it teaches me humility and patience.
And there's no reason to disguise that this wheelchair is a blessing.

So, please take your hope and pity
Your guilt and salvation elsewhere
Because they're defeating the purpose. They're detracting from the point.

I am not diminished by my disability.
I am not to be quieted or pitied
I am not your reason to feel guilty
I am not a burden
I am human.
tread May 2013
Eyes like massive clanks- gazes morphed to lanced boils, lungs ache and the tumour of hopeless alien weird melts an old painting we used to call 'existence.'

Ankles dry, calloused thoughts, skin peels to reveal oozing flesh. **** sinks in and swallows floating zinc; immune. Consuming ex-cadavers in mall parking lots and pushing the crippled in shopping carts, an ankle twisted, a mother swallowed monetary *****, the stock market became the shelf market, and creation wondered if we were okay with frozen pizza for dinner.

Life dragged on and on, the world swirled on twitter feeds and Facebook statuses, the streets completed laps around our better judgements and our better lives, we sank to scheduled escapism and believed that one day we would find the light despite our never left-look.

Massive intention swelled to disjointed shark search. A witch-hunt to burn unhappiness in it's own angry passion. Bones; cost efficient at the least and designed in the weirdness of erosion-return. Miniature intention swelled to grabs solidarity. A manhunt to freeze stillness in it's own endless silence.

What complete? What shatter-tastic ******?

Eyes like massive clanks- gazes morphed to lanced boils, lungs ache and the tumour of hopeless alien weird melts an old painting we used to call 'existence.'
Sasha Ranganath Jul 2014
The dark sets in
Her mind is calm,
She sheds the skin
Of social harm.

Her heart beats slow
Then picks up the pace,
No longer below,
Peculiar grace.

A falling crown
But safer now,
A crippled heart,
But not to drown.

No more cries
No tears of pain,
Only joy
And wild rain.

She shuts her eyes
And breaks away
From all the lies,
A diamond ray.


No more burning
In her soul,
No more hurting,
Lips unsewn.

A beautiful aura
Of dark and light,
The night will fade
Into the bright.

Her heart lights up
With ecstasy,
Happy, although
A tragic story.

The true meaning
Of being sad,
Lips grinning,
But not glad.

A peek of sun rays
Through the curtain,
A blinding haze,
A painful burden.

She doesn't want
The happy to end,
But in the daylight
She has to bend.

Monstrous faces
Without a smile,
Hunger that chases
Till the last dime.

The day drags on,
A hurting stab,
Her life is a storm
Without a God.

No rainbow or sunshine
In the light,
But colours so vivid
Through the night.
Dominique Oct 2018
Droplets tap the dusty windows
Tipping pleasure on the pane
Dribbles every time the wind blows
Prophesize a hurricane

Kisses linger on the backseat
Desperate to delight in more
Suffocated by the heat, but
When it rains, it starts to pour

Panic storm that quickly closes
Smashing waves upon the sand
Tension tearing up the roses
Stuttered poems, shaking hands

Though the pressure keeps you floating
And the ocean licks its shore
There's no way of sugarcoating
Once it rains, it has to pour

Stick a finger in your ceiling
Let the plants hang onto youth
Sunday jazz, petrichor feeling
Hear it tripping on the roof
Smell it shifting all around you
Leaking through your drying veins
Leave your stagnant dragonfly blue
Open up into the rain

When it rains, it pours
I'll blossom being yours

Downpour cleans the ***** traffic
Rippling madly down the drain
Paints the artist something graphic
While he's waiting for the train

Laughter echoes in the morning
Licking soil and clouds to raw
From the vision that's been dawning
Once you rain, it has to pour

Spitting bombshells pelt your raincoat
Tears in quiet pools of green
Holes inside your getaway boat
Water's sweet but can be mean

You've avoided all the warfare
But the stars rampage for more
Douse the thin comfort you still wear
Once it rains, it starts to pour

Stick a finger in your ceiling
Give the plants a thirsty truth
Fairy lights and freedom feeling
Tunes of our torrential youth
Smell it changing all around you
Bursting through the shrivelled veins
Leave your crippled summertime hue
Open up into the rain

When it rains, it pours,
I'll bloom so much being yours
We're a perfect storm, I guess
Fire has been stopped with less

When it rains it has to pour.
Rain brings change when we most need it
mannley collins Jul 2014
Is such a big and impossible to miss step for a scribbler
of poetry free poems to trip over.
A step that cannot be ignored, except consciously and conscientiously.
Such a person as a scribbler of poetry less poems would be a person who cannot tell the difference between truth and truthfulness.
A person whose sole raison d,etre in pretending to be a poet is their lifelong angst in being unable to escape from being under the control of  their mind and its operating system --the Conditioned Identity.
The Conditioned Identity,which is the facetious and morally dishonest "I am a poet" mask that is the consciously adopted Conditioned Identity--the operating system for the Mind.
In the great scheme of things becoming just another member of the human GroupMind--one who doesn't count--not even on the fingers of one hand-.
One,who,in the grand scheme of things,never has counted and never will count-call them countless.
Shadows that flicker and dim on the walls of the Prison of political, racial,national,familial and religious conformity
And these worthless scribblers of poetry less poems do have an all consuming conditioned habit  of consciously ignoring truthfulness and integrity and substituting pathetic sub-teen lower middle class emo whinging "truth"--about their "art" and "insight"and "vision"and their "truth"--always their worthless "truth".
Sitting and mourning the fulfilling love that always evades them and always will evade them--unless they let go of the conditioned identity and the Mind--consigning them to the dustbin of history--where they rightfully belong.
Angst ridden whingers all--in love with their image in the mirror of Minds oh so believable deception.
Scribbling about a conditional possessive love that would have been a valueless truth but never can be the essence of truthfulness.
A conditional possessive love that never was and never will be unconditional and non-possessive.
Whinging about nothing more than conditional love and a truthfulness that never can be for them--- as we see openly here and there and everywhere there are scribblers of poetry less "poetry" who use sites such as this to scribble their pretentious infantile nonsense.
Poverty of values and integrity,orphaned from the Isness of the Universe, children of worthless technological consumerism and followers of false oligarchic hopes.
With their greedy gobs open for any crumbs falling from the rich peoples tables,like baby chicks in the nest--feed me feed me they screech.
Colluding with like minded betrayers of truthfulness,groupminds of
limp wristed bombastic poseurs.
Deluding themselves by babbling media made inane celebrities
empty insights and twisted conclusions--purveyors of puerile pettiness.
Oligarchic media celebrities noted only for the illusions between their ears,and the beguiling way they collude with each other to delude themselves.
Ludare!
Oh how they love to play mind games
Lives spent colluding with these babbling worthless celebrities who know the price of everything and the value of nothing,
Pompous posturing pretentious pissants of aesthetic poverty.
Bound together into a worldwide consumers Groupmind,
persuaded by perverts of PR into believing in the Illusion of Wealth and Demockery that the Oligarchy sells.
To step over the truthfulness threshold is,indeed, to  leave behind their
security blankets of "truth and beauty and revealed knowledge"
and the concomitment meaningless verbiage about "veracity" and "existence".
Shallow and unrequited attempts to own another that the weak and unwanted call "love".
Stomping through the quagmire of conditional love
up to their necks in the **** of consumer garbage.
The Conditional love of possessing another and grasping at thin air
as they submerge slowly in the seas of righteous stupidity .
poets cling to their misconceptions religiously,
poets cling to their ignorance avidly,
poets cling to their proto-fascist politics squeamishly,
with each word and stanza that they write.
Pouring out such pleasant and elegant and flowery and "deep"
words and verses(rhyming or not) that,at their core,
have only one meaning and aim.
Which is!.
To divert and confuse their readers with the"shallow beauty"
of endless strings of meaningless associated but fine sounding words .
To create a groupmind for their poetry business products.
Admire me--buy my product--join my groupmind--eulogise me,
let me rip off your energy--I need your praise,I need your lifes energy
gimme your money honey!.
The Publishing Oligarchy will bestow rewards and honours,
medals and diplomas--critiques fit only to wipe your **** on.
Book sales and the summer Poetry festival circuit--reciting and signing scribbles of narcissism--casting lecherous eyes over dripping **** or stiff wobbling **** in the adoring crowd of sycophants.
The  Media will fawn and adulate and cast its sly net
to entangle your desires in ---infamy awaits.
Come admire me and my use of other poets stolen words,
my criminality in even daring to think the word "poet" has any value.
These are my words about my inexperience and unknowingness they scream possessively in jaundiced teeny remembrance.
Remembrance of mediocre middle class homes and attitudes
of ingrained ignorance and wilful imagined self victimisation.
Eating societies poisoned dishes--.
Serve me up a burger of roasted babies on toast
from Vietnam--live on Channel Whatever.
Or chargrilled peasants from Afghanistan
with breathless commentary from
our "reporter on the spot".
Or homeless mental wrecks from the streets
of any Amerikan or World city big or small,
trailing acerbic criticism from the immoral majority.
Or dead celebrity  consumer junkies in 5 star hotels
complete with PR handouts and **** licking "friends"
positioning themselves for increased sales.
Or the children of the Oligarchs with their "I" newspapers
and inbuilt fascist attitudes.
Who spend their shallow lives hoping for the kind
of meaningless and worthless Honours and Validation
from those that do not have honour or validity..
Or the not just lame but crippled duck presidents with their finely crafted speeches that say nothing but I am a beard wearing  failure,
looking forward to penning lies and calling it a frank memoir
while holding out my hands  for the Oligarchies pennies.
Can anyone tell me where to get a bucket of truthfulness?.
A glass of honesty?.
A tumbler full of veracity?.
A beaker of back breaking honest labour?.
Can anyone tell me where I can find
a peaceful man or woman,of any of the 5 colours.
Not those merely observing a Cease-Fire
while they rearm their weapons of the lies of beauty and truth.
Oligarchy allowed social commentary.
Is there just one decent truthful man or woman out there?.
Judging by the world Id say not.
No Id say not.
Not.
There Ive said it.

www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk
Taylor McKee Nov 2012
Paralysis
Crippled
By fear
Or anxiety
Depression
Like the gaze of a basilisk
Sinking
Unable to swim
All the lifeguards look like sharks
Manage to struggle in the currents
Further and further
Swimming
Away from the shore
On purpose
People can tell you you're Superman
But when you are your own kryptonite
Why even try to swim
Being crippled
By the basilisk
Its grasp never loosens
Feel Jan 2015
Shadows I am, trailing behind you,
Heaving and reversing, for your slightest attention,
Intimate you are not, forgetful you are,
Never do you, have this much conviction.

Noises inside, my head and yours,
Illusive we are, to what matters most,
Perhaps nothing we do, could really save us,
Hating and aching, to that we toast.

Untouched, crippled; and heavily misunderstood,
Arching our ego, that's all we ever could.
Paul S Eifert Nov 2012
Rusty nail by rusty nail the floors come down. Floor by floor
the old men of the old town slip away, and leave old shells
like the stone bread of Pompey. We board these windows
and bolt these doors and slate them in the young sun
for the hungry cranes, but I return in the twilight
of going home traffic when five o'clock lets loose blue collars
to fumble through the ruined rooms of time gone by,

I kick through our broken bricks. Their red dust stains
my shoes and wears on my cuffs. A hopeless hearth,
discarded news, a crippled doll with matted hair
and I all share the crumbling of the day, but only I
shall not remain come compline. Neither can I
pack these walls with me. So this is adieu
to former strongholds. To our old fidelity, adieu.

It is not fit to go forth less than brave, for
they built seven cities over Troy, seven worlds
not knowing where they stood so long the first
could not be said to be. The docks of Caesarea sleep
in the sea, and tourists sit for lunch
on the prone pillars
of Jaffa.
The critical reviews are in.  It looks as though Socialist Heroes will not become a Broadway play.  The following comments concerning the desirability of socialism were gleaned from the Facebook page of the National Liberty Federation.  Group members indicate a resounding thumbs down on the idea of socialism.  

Popular comments from the Facebook group include:
Kool aid drinking
Semper Fi
Following Gunny to Hell and Back
Lots of Good Gunnys out there
Obama’s socialism must be stopped
I’d rather die than live under communism
Join the Infidel Brotherhood
Ted Cruz, just love that guy
Stock Up on Guns and Bullets
Greece invented democracy and they haven't used it for years
Jesus is coming to destroy the Anti-Christ
there are a lot of ******* out there posing as americans

The passionate posts and learned comments from the Facebook group members of the The National Liberty Federation follow in all its grammatical and misspelled glory.  All comments from the public group are posted verbatim….

(Editorial Note: The link to the Infidel Brotherhood was redacted.  The Editor wants no role in promoting neo-fascist vitriol. )

Thanks!


National Liberty Federation
Like This Page · 11 hours ago
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4,560 people like this.
2,627 shares

Eddie *******Where's MY koolaid!
Like · Reply · 9 hours ago

Charles Noftsker Semper Fi!!!!!!!!!
Like · Reply · 175 · 11 hours ago via mobile

Justin P. Emery Semper Fi, my Brother
Like · 13 · 11 hours ago

National Liberty Federation Semper Fi!!! 0311 here
Like · 9 · 11 hours ago

Justin P. Emery 3521 listed... but did whatever the hell my Gunny told me to do lol
Like · 5 · 10 hours ago

National Liberty Federation there are a lot of good gunny's out there.
Like · 2 · 10 hours ago

Justin P. Emery Yeah... Gunny's you'll follow through Hell and back
Like · 2 · 10 hours ago

Kathy Stephens Grant We have our future generations to think about!
Like · Reply · 172 · 11 hours ago
7 Replies · about an hour ago

Clint ****** I am on the right side which is I am an American and I do not want obamas socialism
Like · Reply · 11 · 11 hours ago

Joyce Tidwell Burns Backing Americans into a corner is never a good idea. Bad thing is both sides are ready and if this crap starts its gonna be very very bad...
Like · Reply · 9 · 11 hours ago via mobile

Jim Blackwell I may be getting to old to fight but I still shoot straight. Just set me on a bucket behind a bush on a hill and I will just pick them off one at a time until I get all of them or they get me. I would rather die free than to live under communism.
Like · Reply · 14 · 10 hours ago

William Slingo I"m with ya Jim. I'm too old and crippled to be a soldier but I never planned on dying alone if ya know what I mean........
Like · 1 · 8 hours ago

Susannah Fedders I'm 60yr.old female with 4 Grand Son's I'm ready to do what is necessary to take our country back,for my Grandchildren.
Like · Reply · 10 · 11 hours ago

Robert Haller To coin a phrase, I regret I only have one life to give to my country. I will give all that I have and until my last breath to defend this country. Semper Fi.
Like · Reply · 4 · 10 hours ago · Edited

Michael Knorr even some civilians will fight that!
Like · Reply · 3 · 11 hours ago

Adam Capi This generation of young voters and first time voters Proves americans are Plain Stupid
Like · Reply · 4 · 11 hours ago

Andrea Gardner Ahhhhhh....Social Security? How about we get past the labels and just do what's right for the people instead of the rich Plutocrats who have managed to take over our Government. Our Politicians are nothing more than prostitutes sold to the highest bidder.
Like · Reply · 7 · 5 hours ago via mobile

Alice Shinn I may be old, 67 years young. I am disgusted with our country. I know that I am not alone. My friends and family cannot believe what our congress has let laws pass, that are not equal under the law..
Like · Reply · 2 · 9 hours ago

Savi Braun Then get it back!!!
Like · Reply · 2 · 11 hours ago

Leslee C. Carles you can help too!
Like · 10 hours ago

Diana McGowan Nelson I totally cannot understand how many people don't see what this man in doing. By the time they open their eyes, it will probably be too late.
Like · Reply · 2 · 7 hours ago

Brian Chaline Please help us reach 900 likes.
(link to Infidel Brotherhood redacted)
Thanks!

The Infidel Brotherhood
The Infidel Brotherhood is a group established to promote education,warning andunderstanding of the danger involved in the spread of Islam. The twisted Sharia Laws and Ideologies that Muslims are using against Non-Muslims, women and childern.
Community: 921 like this
Like · Reply · 3 · 9 hours ago via mobile

Dale Rumley I am gonna fight till death for it. I with Jim Blackwell. The longer the shot the better!!!!
Like · Reply · 3 · 10 hours ago via mobile

Bettie Stanley Amen
Like · Reply · 2 · 10 hours ago

Nancy Jacobson I am with you .
Like · Reply · 2 · 11 hours ago

Marino Fernandez I wish this was true, pray that America wakes up to reality, and the mistakes it has made in the last two elections.
Like · Reply · 1 · 50 minutes ago

Jule Spohn Semper Fi!!! Jule Spohn - Sgt- USMC - 1960/66
Like · Reply · 1 · 9 hours ago

Savi Braun Everyone needs to help get our country back
Like · Reply · 1 · 10 hours ago via mobile

La Fern Landtroop Praying that God helps America !
Like · Reply · 1 · 3 hours ago via mobile

Terri Britt Smith Read Senator Ted Cruz last post.... gotta love that guy!!
Like · Reply · 1 · 5 hours ago

FJay Harrell Yes it will. The Boomers will not give up their party.
Like · Reply · 2 · 8 hours ago

Vanessa Mason Be careful in Obama Care they come after your children because of your military training, read up on it, it starts with home visits. I salute all military, and Thank you too.
Like · Reply · 1 · 10 hours ago

Lois F. Neway Semper Fi ......We have our future generations to think about!
Like · Reply · 1 · 10 hours ago

Joe Riggio Nor will mine....Semper Fi!!!
Like · Reply · 1 · 11 hours ago

Michael Coulter oorah!!!
Like · Reply · 2 · 11 hours ago

Joyce Ballard I pray this is right.
Like · Reply · 2 · 11 hours ago

Billy Wells I pray that you are right!!
Like · Reply · 10 hours ago

Carmita Depasquale Semper Fi, indeed and thank you for ALL that you do..God bless and God speed!
Like · Reply · about an hour ago

Rose M D'Amico I pray not....the young ones must be strong & we seniors will help when we can!
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Nathan Gartee I stand beside my fellow americans to FIGHT for FREEDOM !!!
Like · Reply · 10 hours ago

Thomas P Zambelli oh hell no!
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago

Marvin Moe Mosley Let's hope they stand up and be counted
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago

Bill Yeater gonna be a near thing
Like · Reply · 11 minutes ago

Dante Antiporda Obama's socialism will never happen in the US, if only its citizen will use their PEOPLE POWER a mass action together without FEAR and gun fired and NO BULLET hurt anyone.
Like · Reply · 34 minutes ago

Diane Stevens Abernathy Too late.
Like · Reply · 44 minutes ago

Chuck N Marv Pelfrey AMEN!! AGREE!!
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Jane Garrett Amen
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago

Sandy Thorne You got that right.
Like · Reply · 5 hours ago

Jane Hanson GOOD FOR YOU.
Like · Reply · 10 hours ago

Buck Wheat **** near already there
Like · Reply · 3 · 11 hours ago

Carol Lowell Already happening,
Like · Reply · 14 minutes ago

Ellen Aaron I surely hope not, but it's not looking good, right now...
Like · Reply · 16 minutes ago

Timothy Tremblay It would be a cold day in hell
Like · Reply · 18 minutes ago

Peter Krause Not without a major fight...
Like · Reply · 25 minutes ago

Mike Beakley You are a stupid person.
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago via mobile

Anibal Gonzalez Jr. I hope. And trust.
Like · Reply · 1 · 2 hours ago

George P Palmer Well son you better get off your *** cause I am one of last of the grate generation..
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Steven Canzonetta I don't think you people know what socialism is, take a civics class. Not mention democracy has been around for thousands of years, and the country that invented it (Greece) hasn't used it in century's. Shouldn't that tell you something?!
Like · Reply · 1 · 3 hours ago via mobile

Kenneth Chartrand we sure hope but there are a lot of ******* out there posing as americans
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago

Ann Morse unfortunately, we already have...
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago

Robert Dixon Aim High and I agree with you

Steven Canzonetta I don't think you people know what socialism is, take a civics class. Not mention democracy has been around for thousands of years, and the country that invented it (Greece) hasn't used it in century's. Shouldn't that tell you something?!
Like · Reply · 1 · 3 hours ago via mobile

Kenneth Chartrand we sure hope but there are a lot of ******* out there posing as americans
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago

Ann Morse unfortunately, we already have...
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago

Robert Dixon Aim High and I agree with you
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago

Deb Siener I wish but think it is already too late to take our country back
Like · Reply · 4 hours ago

Code Jah Capitalism, socialism, fascism and all the other ism's have all failed. They're all corrupt and unequal. No sense using any of that crap anymore, its a round world with unlimited potential. Why not start something new that works well for everyone not just a handful of industrialist pigs?
Like · Reply · 1 · 7 hours ago

Marco Moore are future
Like · Reply · 7 hours ago

Lydia Perez-Cruz If we don't want this, Everyone better Wake Up and put a Stop to it!!!!
Like · Reply · 9 hours ago

Terry Maeker Thank you!!
Like · Reply · 9 hours ago via mobile

Gayle Wright I AGREE
Like · Reply · 9 hours ago

Glen Dauphin Too late! All we can do is take it back now.
Like · Reply · 1 · 11 hours ago via mobile

Ruth E. Brown It's never too late. We stood by and allowed this to happen, so it's up to us to fix it.
Like · Reply · 1 · 5 hours ago via mobile

Michael Therrien Socialism? Really you folks need a dictionary. Socialism is not the same as Communism. Socialism is not the same as Fascism. Most democracies in the world operate under the banner of socialism. So stop getting your patriotism mixed up with fighting socialism. It has NOTHING TO DO WITH IT. And you gunners yeah... Your JOB IS DEFEND THE PRESIDENT not the politics. How is that going?
Like · Reply · 1 · 5 hours ago · Edited

Kathy Williams What are you going to do to keep obama from turning this country into SOCIALISM ?? We and congress just sit on our hands and expect God to do the work ????
Like · Reply · 1 · 53 minutes ago

Nancy Anderson Makes me glad I don't have kids.
Like · Reply · 1 · 11 hours ago · Edited

RoyLee Clouse Jr. AMEN!
Like · Reply · 4 minutes ago

Cherrie Fields Collins United we stand!
Like · Reply · 5 minutes ago

Pamela Lowry we need to fight
Like · Reply · 15 minutes ago

Jorge Alvarado I challenge you all to write your representatives, and demand change. Make a promise, if you see no change to vote out those representatives. When you are finished writing, go out to the corner of your street and hold up signs, advising others to do the same. Change starts while on your feet!!!
Like · Reply · 44 minutes ago via mobile

Humberto Gonzalez never
Like · Reply · 45 minutes ago

Robert Wilkins You elected a Socialist loser as president, twice! So yes, you are the generation whose stupidity and intellectual sloth let America fall to a bunch of two-bit dictators. Hope you're all proud of yourselves.
Like · Reply · about an hour ago

ColleenLee Johnson Sure hope this is the case - we have two years or less....
Like · Reply · about an hour ago via mobile

Darlene Nelson Stand up America if you love this country.
Like · Reply · about an hour ago

Jole Workman too late!
Like · Reply · about an hour ago

Pete Johnson Our grandfather's generation already did it when they elected Woodrow Wilson.
Like · Reply · about an hour ago

G Cindy Albe u are RIGHT about that!!!
Like · Reply · about an hour ago

Lynn Stacey Amen
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago via mobile

Mary Labonte If we must go down it will be one hell of a fight!!!
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Emma Joyce Wolfe THANK YOU
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Charles Twentier Someone please tell our country is under attack from inside and we need them to do what thier signs before it is too lat for us and them .
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Patsy McMillian Hartley Hope so.
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Ron Hendrix Keep Communist Cuban Guerillas out of the Senate and the spotlight.
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Matthew Keenan We already did!http://www.foxnews.com/.../
Why ObamaCare is a fantastic success
www.foxnews.com
There are 2 major political parties in America.
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Maryann Del Giorno Avella amen
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Selena Ervin i think we are almost there
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Rhoda Dietz we better all do smthing to stop it
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Todd Mcdonald What about Fascism
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago via mobile

Steven Canzonetta Richard A Haines, I see you posted the Mayflower compact. I believe the constitution trumps the compact, especially seperation of church and state. Also " one nation under god" was added to the pledge in the '50s as an anti communism campaign after WW2. Its not an American value, because we are suposed to respect all religeon, and keep it out of social policy. Maby your not an American, since you cant keep your dogma out of our government.
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago via mobile

Harry Mundy Socialism is a rolling snowball gaining size and momentum as it rolls downhill! Let's hope it can be stopped or impeded, but as it is rolling, more and more people jump aboard to benefit from the free ride!!!!
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago

Gary Carte With you all the way.
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago

Isaac Tedford Pookey! Let's bring this mother down!
Like · Reply · 4 hours ago

Else Mccomb God bless you all...
Like · Reply · 4 hours ago

John MacDonald IN GOD WE TRUST
Like · Reply · 4 hours ago

Byron Lee you better hurry then ---the ******* are gainigng on us!!!!!
Like · Reply · 4 hours ago

Justin Klimas HOOAH!!!!!!!!!!
Like · Reply · 6 hours ago

Joseph Ball Hell yeah
Like · Reply · 7 hours ago via mobile
106 of 172
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David Patton Arm yourselfs now and buy plenty of ammo, you will need it one day.
Like · Reply · 8 hours ago

Lucretia Landrum Amen !
Like · Reply · 8 hours ago

Lucretia Landrum Amen
Like · Reply · 8 hours ago

John Payne that right!!
Like · Reply · 8 hours ago

Little Eagle ****** McGowan No you too busy falling TO STUPIDITY.
Like · Reply · 8 hours ago via mobile

Carol Pinard Ummmm what obama is doing to our country in not socialism..... it is awful and shameful but it is not socialism. Do research on what socialism is supposed to be and not just what it became in the hands of evil people.
Like · Reply · 9 hours ago via mobile

Tim Veach Too late.
Like · Reply · 10 hours ago

Pam McBride Don't want it to be.
Like · Reply · 10 hours ago

Kathryn Seelmeyer RIGHT!
Like · Reply · 10 hours ago

Kim Janics my mom would love you but we are slowly have been going toward that direction since the beginning of governments.....yes even america
Like · Reply · 10 hours ago · Edited

DeAnna Stone already happening
Like · Reply · 11 hours ago

Irene Lopez Nice
Like · Reply · 11 hours ago via mobile

Scott Puttkamer A lil late I think! Obama has already done it!!!!!!!!
Like · Reply · 11 hours ago

Jimmy Oakes 2nd that!
Like · Reply · 11 hours ago

Diane Kelham OORAH....
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Tami Stanley Perkins Amen to that!!!!!! From one vet to millions of others, we shall rise to the occasion and fight here on our own land to remove a dictator!!!!!
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago

Fran Gordon Benz Not if I can help it! I see people reaching a boiling point!! Something is going to happen! I'm sensing the anger and frustration!
Like · Reply · 9 hours ago via mobile

Bob D. Beach Right!
Like · Reply · 4 minutes ago

Annie Graham Which generation would that be.....the one that 'allowed' SS, medicare, Medicaid, fire, police, parks, roads, education etc...?
Like · Reply · 35 minutes ago

Kassandra Craig then we need to get rid of obama
Like · Reply · about an hour ago

Tony Horton By Ballots or bull

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