"handicapped" poems
The word bipolar can put fear in your heart
Because you’ll never know when it will start.
Also known as manic depression and it can become
A lifelong obsession.
Wondering when the next bout of fear will enter you
And if you know just what to do.
It is like the devil trying to take your soul
And it becomes a battle of control.
Most times in order for you to live
You must take the meds that they give.
If your child is bipolar or autistic, will you love them any less?
I don’t think so is my guess!
The LORD puts a child where he / she belongs
With a person he knows is strong.
The strength of the parents helps them to cope
With the problems old and new, and that is
Something that they do.
Let us be a little realistic, not many crimes
Are committed by bipolar or autistic
So how can they use words like crazy, retarted or handicapped
When against us the cards are stacked,
When this becomes a challenge close to home
Remember that you’re not alone.
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 10:50 AM UTC
No no no, this isn’t one of those commendable confessional rants of redounded reality.
We all know where that goes and what it leads to.
This rhetoric comprises solely of the faulty intuitive comprehension and the ******** behaviour people have while under the influence of the poor man’s ****
That could be mistaken for a typo.
Xeno-meph, would be what aliens are called if they did this too.
Extended warranty of your sinus cavity is a must.
And a mouth guard so you don’t churn away at the capricious calcium that are your teeth.
Smoke and dance till lungs and legs collapse.
Talk like you’re the spokesperson for an oil company that’s pillaging life and land.
Change your personality in a minute and become the ****** you always wanted to be.
That smart talking, **** wagging, ***** licking, *** ******* back stabbing, self serving, worthless piece of **** is now you, but it doesn’t feel like that to you.
Rational ******** your only reprieve.
Keep doing the same things over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again hoping the outcome will change.
But you’re cool.
You’ve done this before, it’s solvable.
A break. That’s all there’s to it.
The itch in your nose has stopped. Your jaw doesn’t hurt.
You don’t feel like **** but you know somehow that something is amiss.
Things are not what they seem. Sense doesn’t make itself.
The dark is your sanctum. Fast is your peace.
That’s not a typo.
The world cannot slow down for you.
You have to speed up. Another gram, another line, another lie.
Control is what you say it is.
Handles are what your stomach has.
Fast forward a few months and you don’t have a handle on anything.
You don’t feel down, you feel fine. Nothing’s wrong
But just another fall, and you’re straight out of line.
Justify! Justify! Justify!
Listen, keep listening… Talk! keep talking!
Everything makes sense. Everything is a sense.
The difference is that I’m faster, quicker, sharper.
I’m handicapped.
Leverage is my mind, broken and blind.
I wish that was a typo.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 5:12 AM UTC
when words fail you
silence smothers you
fears surround you
you borrow inside yourself
waiting
till that special friend
brings you back
your heart and mind
Jul 7, 2019
Jul 7, 2019 at 3:38 AM UTC
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
Nov 17, 2019
Nov 17, 2019 at 5:36 PM UTC
Income is an intangible,
Taxes are an intangible,
Neither exists right now,
Only the promise of it in the future...
That's what credit is... a bet against a promise.
Which means all of nothing,
since it hasn't happened yet,
all credit is risk of one degree or another,
...based on tolerance or gumption.
If all people are, "risky,"
then all credit is risk,
none can be more credit-worthy;
less risky...
So why not turn future liabilities into income,
instead of future income into a liability?
Hmm...
Impossible?
Yeah, ...since anything that gives ordinary people power must be impossible. Jesus must not believe in individual power. The Founding Fathers must not have believed in individualism. No, ...only the state backed by a selected wealthy few should determine everyone's fate by economy.
Only a few should have it all....
...no opportunity for anyone else; the weak, poor, untalented, ugly, simple, ordinary, dumb, handicapped; those ones don't matter.
Just NFL players count.
Only singers and actors count.
Only bankers and doctors matter.
Jesus would agree.
Makes so much sense?
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 11:58 PM UTC
It follows my movements
behind a seashell,
every few steps
it drops the cup
over it's shoulder
prolifically it shifts
positions, so do I,
as slight of hand.
If the secret of love
is buried in his armpit,
and it is, maniacally.
Tho' not the kind
you buy at the movies,
of optimist derringers,
smoking guns.
Still,
flight begins when
the sun goes down
it shifts euphemistic trees
like shadow puppets
into walls of passion,
makes bulimia dreams
of doughnut holes,
something sweet
craving bakery counters
and bagels take up
the lonesome place
still ringing in our ears,
my ears,
placards hanging lobes
of the emotionally distressed,
handicapped dangle
I can't move my tongue
...again.
But, they still hear love
whisper their name
just before
the dawn becomes.
Sunny rising sonic
boom that scatters the birds
all into synchronized
sign language.
We strain,
to hear them sing anthems
over the roof tops,
it makes us happy to hear
every time,
just one more time.
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 9:56 PM UTC
The Holy Ones
I want to shove socks in my pants, so it looks like I have one of those Italian-line painting ***** I want to do it when I go to the grocery store so fourteen-year olds and thirty-year olds alike stare at my junk as it fills the stitches of my pelvic arena, I want to make eye contact with mothers and grandmothers, brothers and dads as they shift uncomfortably in those handicap battery powered carts that are reserved for the handicapped but are often only used by the near-morbidly obese, near because they’re not quite dead yet, morbid because they can’t help but imagining my **** sliding past their tongue and what it feels like as the tip pushes past their uvula and they gasp for air through their nose because they’ve never had a **** like this in their mouth before. This would be my **** **** This would have me making lists of adult film star names for film star jobs I’d never take because I’d be busy making lists of phone numbers, the college girls I’d have my pick of ******* and the mothers and grandmothers who I’d be happily turning away from while I select my own organic radishes from the produce department at the specialty market on Vine. This **** is better than a rolled up wrapped stack of hundreds or the leather jacket I had in high school, it’d be better than when I walked down Michigan Ave in Umbro Valentino donning a Parisian accent, I can see me having to buy new briefs just to make room for this **** And my own **** getting jealous of the girth I’d be faking it’d swell up, and in the middle of ordering my four-pump Vanilla Almond milk Latte from Starbucks my gray wool socks would fall to the floor, and up from the band of my Acne Jeans would bulge the tip, just the tip, like she said when I was in college, or just the tip like I said when I just needed to feel something other than how emotionally wrecked you made me feel when you told me not to touch you anymore. You ****** me up righteously. And still, 380 women later, I’m ****** up and I don’t have a single pair of socks to wear
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 1:34 AM UTC
To die,
To fall,
To lose,
In an act of,
Life-giving,
Spirit lifting,
Victory,
Is simply,
Nonsensical,
And yet,
Perfect,
Completely,
Irrational,
And yet,
Thought out,
And so,
Incomprehensible,
With human mind,
But absolutely,
And definitely,
The right thing to do,
Because God loved the world so much,
He would let his own creation,
Take his only son from him,
To save his creation,
From the hands of evil.
And the best thing?
The most amazing and inconceivable thing of all,
Is that he did it for all mankind.
Athiest
Agnostic
Christian
Jew
Muslim
Sikh
Hindu
Buddhist
Black
White
Straight
Gay
Lesbian
Bisexual
Asexual
Boy
Girl
Bigender
Transgender
Agender
Young
Old
Kind
Cruel
Happy
Sad
Rich
Poor
Healthy
Ill
Free
Enslaved
Safe
Afraid
Intelligent
Stupid
Deaf
Blind
Disabled
Handicapped
Single
Taken
Married
Divorced
Remarried
Widowed
Lost
Found
Persecuted
Persecutor
Murderer
Self-harmer
Suicidal
Unloved
Adored
Popular
Ignored
Beautiful
Ugly
Guilty
Innocent
Outcast
Desperate
Autistic
Bulimic
Alcoholic
Bipolar
Addict
Dyslexic
Anorexic
Schizophrenic
SAVED
Every single human being ever born is saved.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
Our fellow ******** people, or should I say mentally handicapped, have two eyes, a nose, and a beating heart far more large and caring then any1 else's. Everyday people abuse the word ****** We use it to describe something slow or stupid. The problem with this is that everytime you use that word, you're insulting a group of people that cannot defend themselves.
The mentally handicapped aren't locked in dark basements to rot and die anymore; they're out in the world living as every1 else. And becuz of this we've "accepted" them right? We're a big happy and accepting world to every single human being becuz we're all equal! WRONG. We glorify freedom and how wonderful it is, but with freedom comes hate. With freedom comes words that r always going to be there forever, just to remind the human race that some1 with an extra chromosome is different.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
Saw women
Waiting at the bus stop
Heard the new cinema song
From the advertising vehicle
Asked the stranger sitting near me
Whether he was not going to Potta ashram
In conductor’s seat
Slumbers a traveler without a ticket (stowaway)
Under the label of defence forces,
Two school children
On the Ladies’ seat,
Padre from the local church
“The lady who brings this card is an orphan
Her family was lost in floods
She is the only one for herself and her child
A blue card fell in my lap.
How did I become blind?
Beating time on the stomach,
A Tamil song stretched its arm
Became deaf
A girl became mute
“do you remember this face?”
Sat on the seat for handicapped
With a sense of belonging and righteousness.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 8:48 AM UTC
So I was taking lil Tyler to school
and I got to meet one of his friends!
Tyler was so excited to introduce me to him,
but that poor little babe!
He was in a wheelchair!
Bless my son's heart for looking past this kid's...
um....
Well you know it takes a special kid to have a crippled friend!
Wait
I mean
Not special! My son is not special
No, wait, I mean he ain't SPECIAL special
You know?
Anyways, so I met his friend and I'm not quite sure what to do here
I say
HELLO I AM TYLER'S MAMA
and this little kid looks me dead in the eyes and told me
"Hello ma'am, there's no need to yell"
I was in awe
He didn't sound handicapped at all!
I mean I didn't know if he would be able to understand me
But he did!
Who would have thought a wheelchaired kid
could speak and think just like any other kid who wasn't gimpy!
I am just so so proud of my son
for looking past this poor victim of
um...
deformities...
Cuz you know it's probably good for the disabled
to have a regular normal friend like my son!
Hopefully my son can make that kid happy
you know since people like that usually have such sad lives.
Golly I am just so proud of my son for taking pity on that kid!
I am such a good mother!
Jan 17, 2020
Jan 17, 2020 at 11:15 AM UTC
The Doll House
I stumble, I tumble into a house of prostitution,
well it is the oldest professional institution.
I stare, I sit and I look around,
suddenly my tongue dropped to the ground.
Had my choice of fifty ******
each room had curtains for doors.
Plenty of blondes, brunettes and red heads,
laced satin sheets on all the beds.
Fat girls, skinny girls and ugly ones too,
with only twenty dollars my choices were few.
They sent me back into a room,
a blow up doll and a plastic broom.
After an hour, I was very confused,
doll had a smile, but my ******* was bruised.
Walked out of the place with a limp,
dressed up my broom, just like a ****
I kept the doll free of charge,
ugly desperate men kept me living large.
I charged sixty dollars an hour with the doll,
hundreds of men were giving me a call.
Making thousands of dollars every week,
pretty good for a doll that doesn't speak.
Now I've cornered market on dolls that are inflatable,
one for any occasion, I have available.
Birthday parties for the geeks and nerds,
nothing like ******* who say no words.
Handicapped and retards love my prices,
I even supply them with special devices.
I even get women with their strap on dildo's,
some girls even like to pick my nose.
This went on for many years,
when I retired, millions were in tears.
My doll house is now a famous museum,
I call it the Blow Up Coliseum.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 11:46 PM UTC
for Mr.Cole's "Magic" assignment
The Magician
Moments of wonder
performed with theatrical pazaz
A prolonged instance of dumbstruck amazement
---
A slight of hand
or a glittery distracting explosion
creating a captivated audience screaming for *More!
More!
More!
Fool us again
Test our I.Qs
See if we're sane*
---
But to perform...
---
I need more money the magician boldly insists
Our hands ****** into our pockets, to our wrists
---
But wait...
Silence...
Then a collective gasp
There on the table under lock and clasp
---
All of our wallets
Plain to see
And the future money of each baby
---
Did we clap?
Oh, how we heartily clapped
And cheered and laughed like we were handicapped
---
Then the show stopped
But we still clapped, stamping our feet
As the Magician strode off stage back to 10 Downing Street
TA DAAA!
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
How can I say "We're just friends"
When I taste you in my dreams
Your honeyed savoriness on my tongue
Formed itself
Useful
You dance like an angel
In the center of my pupils
Your song is exceptionally sweet
It humbles my spirit
Divulges me
That we are all just hummingbirds
Vigorously, hunting for a melody
Auctioning off welfares
For pleasures swimming in vain
Selfishly
We've never enjoyed the necter without the pain of
Piercing thorns
With handicapped feet,
We dream to fly
60 miles a beat
How I wish the breeze
Would carry me
Straight to your home of
Butterfly Weeds
Longing for the eightenth year, to sore away
Just as a sweet bundle in Mama's womb
In the nest we mature and anxiously wait
Extremities
Planted firmly on the dirt
His amour
Gives me wings
And, I flutter
His humming is a pleasing sound
Searching for a fullfillment
Two times our body weight
In the ebony of my skin
I inertly wait
Wishing for reincarnation
A
New
Life
Of a harmless, beautiful
hummingbird
Harmonizing its way
Across God's blue sky.
Copy Right 2013
©Patty Ann
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 4:16 PM UTC
I was moving out
Parked my bike down the street
With a cart hinged on the bolt beneath the rusty pole
connected to my seat.
The yard was steep, and the stairs leading down
the front
Vanished each car-
go carrying trip
of dictionaries and travel guides that
could have been lumped together in boxes
separately tossed into the neon
green
synthetic fiber
rain-proof buggy
Connected to my seat.
I ran across the lawn, one last time
Buckling the watch I found from high school
remembering it’s broken and not caring
then I saw men wearing polos beneath
Greek symbols beneath a doorway
and held my breath as they stared at me.
This vacant lot held something which I carried back
to find
my bike was gone, replaced
by a life-sized depiction of a bike saying
“no bikes--” A girl inside, explaining where I could find mine
I walked down the grey spiral of handicapped access ramps
surrounded by aquariums or tvs
which comprised the store's interior.
The last ramp faced an exit and went straight past
refrigerators next to vending machines
In the alley behind this office supply store were two old men
Roasting my bike on a chain beside the others
Disconnected, hung
its tires lying on the ground beside their feet
and the carriage slung aside like a bloodied gazelle's neck.
“What the ****
A woman got into my face “don’t use that word”
***** a perfectly good word, after all, it’s how we
got here”
One man smiled.
He felt bad.
They helped me put the bike together and I walked it back to my house.
I saw my car down the street.
I thought about the long trip to the interstate and wondered why I’d
rode my bike
Then I went back up the stairs of the blue sided hill,
to see the roommate I hated
and thought about stealing his SNES and stereo
but took only my one possession
and walked past rotting turkey bacon in a plastic pouch
on the top of a table
beside some legos
and left.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 1:21 PM UTC
Is not an easy task
But it is rewarding
To do what Jesus asks
My father now needs me more
A new level of care
So I will look after him
I'll always be there
My mother is not able
Handicapped herself
And so it is left up to me
I put much on the shelf
I won't be on the site as much
I guess a rarer bird
But I will still share with you
You will read my words
I will need strength in spirit
I must find a way
If you find it in your heart
*Please help me and PRAY.*
♡ Catherine
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 2:05 PM UTC
This letter, is to inform you, about a
bomb threat
that we received this, morning. Name of a Name
Unified Consolidated ISD,
a State-Recognized School of Somethingness,
Where Kids Come First under the theme of
All The Kids All The Curriculum All The Time
is committed, to the safety and education
of all our students and We Are Number One,
Go #Thundercatbears!, ‘Cause We are #All-Hashtagged
in Unity and Oneness. We also, want
to clearly communicate with split infinitives
And crazy commas all over the place
to parents about safety issues when they
get found out arise.
This morning, a phone call, was received,
by the receptionist at
The-Latest-Name-Held-in-Place-with-Velcro-Until-the-Next-Name-Change
Elementary School and Essential Spirit
Dreams New Dawn Progress Learning and
Technology Center of the Future
stating a
bomb
was present, on the campus.
After conferring with the Threat Assessment Team,
The Standard Response Protocol team,
the Chinkypin-Lizard Lick Police Department parked in the handicapped spaces at Tia Jolene’s Goremay Eats ‘n’ Bokays out next to the Interstate,
the cheerleader sponsors,
Facebook,
Twitter,
our attorneys,
and Superintendent Dr. Hamestus Goodoleboy “Spike” Ponsonby III,
the students were rapidly, and efficiently evacuated
to a safe area up in the football bleachers
where they would be more obvious targets
and the school was professionally and thoroughly
swept for anything suspicious and untoward.
During this time,
when no students were in danger,
another call was received stating that gunshots
were fired in the school. There were no gunshots,
fired in the school and
no children were in danger at any time.
Currently, we’re are is allowing students,
who were never in any danger,
to return to school as usual
where there was never any danger at any time.
We will have extra counselors and therapists available
if students or parents needs supports are
counsolining in spelling ‘n’ sentence structure.
The students were never in any danger at any time.
All threats to our school where
their was never any danger
and students who were never in any danger
will be taken seriously immediately
and thoroughly and investigated
thoroughly and fully except for that call
last week that we managed to keep covered up.
We wanted to inform you of the correct facts
because our correct facts are the only facts
so you can discuss them with your child/ren
Of any race, *** color, creed, religion,
or gender identification or not
and emphasize the seriousness of our facts,
which are the only facts. If you discover
Any facts untoward or out of place please contact us
At the district office at
*** *** xxxx ext ***
or the Chinkypin - Lizard Lick Police Department
immediately and thoroughly.
No children were in, danger at any time.
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 5:07 PM UTC
A blind man cannot see
or live; without mercy
A deaf man cannot hear
or live; without fear
A mute man cannot speak
or live; without peace
But every man is handicapped
in a bigger way than these
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 12:15 PM UTC
Regrettably recording these words,
I’m not a poet or else this would probably flow,
Though I could care less if you don’t want to hear what I have to say
Because I’m comforted by a chance to reason the existence of a soul,
So I could care less if you don’t need to be told that, I’m human and oh so vulnerable
What more can I ask for?
Able to feel the consequence of lusting for something more,
I’m lucky enough to have escaped the 21st century womb,
And avoid the convenience of a couple cuddling with a contraceptive
Understanding that I might just get one chance to say,
I’ve wanted to make the most of my time
Since I’m physically deprived,
What more can we ask for?
Not sure what will happen when these lids seal eyes that were once bloodshot,
I’m so scared of what lies after a life,
My molecularly defected design,
So I must reconcile with the fact that,
My chance to survive without a heart and mind,
Depends on how I use this time,
As we look for the divine our intelligence derived,
Glad to possibly experience the consequence of stepping out of line,
So I could care less if you think I’m a detriment to society
Since I desire to exist beyond the confines of what can be physically defined,
Happy to discover that the divine was not stamped on the penny or the dime
I’m now comforted by the consequences of being materialistically maimed,
Because I didn't find spirituality through Sunday sips of wine
Almost six feet down and comforted by our unknowns,
Maybe you’ll remember me if you made sense of this,
Because I’ve been counting the days before I’ll realize,
If I made the most of my existence
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 6:58 AM UTC
The music
Somehow
Managed to be
Manifested
By the duo
A deaf girl
And a blind boy
Worked
To create this work
Of art
One reads
The notes allowed
While the other strokes
The keysIn synch
They play together
Brail fails
To satisfy the imagination
And the
The hand signs
Signal
Your handicapped
Incapabilities
In case instability
Isn’t enough
To remind her
Reminders forgotten
By forging talents
Forming
As a Shaper of souls
The
Lost and found
They create a presence
Presented
As a musical performance
The conformants
Go with the flow
And accept their fate
Society tells
This peculiar pair’s
Tale
Is unlike any other
Fate begs for a chance
To show her powers
While the duo denies
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 12:36 AM UTC
Every day you see him on the streets
His lifes possessions in his cart
You look at him and turn away
Is that the way you want to start?
He walks around the streets all day
HIs world is only where he walks
But, when he gets too close to you
You find that you're the one who balks
He's never done no harm to you
In fact your lives may be the same
He may just feel the same for you
And you're the one who should feel shame
His life is in that shopping cart
It's full of years of where he's been
He may not have a home like you
He may not have a next of kin
He may live like this willingly
Though you look at him as mad
You see, he's not the issue here
It's you and that's what's sad
He's searching for a better life
Or is he...no one knows
For no one takes the time to see
Just where this poor soul goes
He doesn't want your pity
But a hand up would be kind
A hand out he's not looking for
But they're so hard to find
He lived up in the ivory towers
With a family, working hard
Now he lives among the forgotten folks
With his boots re-soled with cards
You can ask him if he needs a hand
But you wouldn't dare to speak
Because that would put you near him
And that's not ground you seek
Is he harmless, well you just don't know
Is he mad or lost his way
Is he loony, well that's doubtful
He found a cart to push this way
His life is in the boxes
And the bags inside the cart
Next time you see him, don't avoid him
Show him just a little heart
I knew a man, this independent
He showered at a self serve bar
While he cleaned, I'd leave a coffee
And then I'd attend to the next car
He always smiled as he was leaving
A whistle always on his lips
You never knew where he was headed
As he left to go out on his trips
Three times a week, just like clockwork
He would show up just to wash
Three times a week I'd leave him coffee
And each time he'd leave feeling posh
You see him daily in your travels
He's the king of where he's been
So if you see him while you're walking
Give a smile, don't look so mean
For, he's the one who has no problems
Maybe he has got it right
It may not work for you or me though
But it works for him tonight
Each day you see him with his old cart
But you turn away from view
Handicapped...he isn't..but just maybe
The handicapped one here is you..
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 12:04 PM UTC
A lot many times,
Constantly,
Innumerably,
Perpetually,
I am too handicapped to write
A sentence
Or
Two... words, one word, three words, four words...
Like a poet. I am too unconfident or inconfident or disconfident or... Is it unconfident? No, yes, no. Yes.
I am too broke, mentally, exhausted reserve of words, letters and alphabets that I am not native to, but are mine since I was born and my real language is lost amongst the chaos of my broken English. I can't be a good writer like this.
I can't be a poet, I am a person merely aware of a few things in life and can't express it clearly so I think vague poetry helps, even though I write it I can't interpret someone else's poems.
I am not qualified to be a poet. I haven't written 200 sonnets or a 1000 poems on various themes of life, not qualified to write poems on all stages of Human Development. I have only written a 100 poems... Actually, 150. But you can think it's 100.
I am not a poet. I am not old, I am not famous. I am not dead. Why should I be called a poet?
I am just a person who is expressing oneself, I shouldn't get so haughty and give myself a designation. Yet.
Let me grow old and decay in time, so when the earth swallows me up, provided people know me then by luck or chance, I might become a poet. I might.
I am not a poet.
But then, who IS poet?
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 5:17 AM UTC
Oh, America….
how can you be enthralled with Trump
dumping on Mexicans and insulting the handicapped
hair piece flapping in the wind
almost as much as his gums –
dumb hicks with ****** chicks
lick ***** of donkey
if they vote that fool
El Prez
and give him the keys
to the nuclear arsenal –
my minds reels at the possibilities
********* ball-licking ***** face
at the seat of power
offering the impoverished
cake
or worst
nothing but catch phrases and clichés
intending on inspiring the masses
elevate themselves to a similar status
of ‘The Donald’ –
not all of us have mob ties
and millionaire family members
not that many Americans
can support a failing casino
or be the star of a television show
most of us
are just people trying to make the best
of an increasingly ****** up situation
made exponentially worse
by this ******** real chance
at becoming the leader
of the free world –
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
Dear Papa,
Yesterday I saw something that I didn’t understand.
They were walking a little ahead of me.
But walking isn't the right word,
because there were two people
and only two feet.
It sounds like a math problem,
But nothing added up in my head.
It sounds like Vikram Vetal, papa,
But unlike the story you told me the other day,
there was no strong king or sly demon.
I saw, however, one ***** underfed boy of eight
dragging his crippled mother across the street.
Adhunik Shravan bal.
A Lilliputian on a Herculean task.
I couldn't decipher her age.
When you're that poor, does age matter?
Do they keep count of the days that pass by
when their aim is to survive just one?
Do they have a mirror to look into
and count the wrinkles on their face?
What does age matter to an eight year old boy
who, instead of attending school,
is hauling his handicapped mother across the road
on a seating board with wheels?
When I was that age, papa,
you bought me a skateboard
that was the exact leaf green
from my 50 colours oil pastels set.
I couldn't see the colour of their clothes.
There was the dark of the night,
yellow of the street lights
and everything was in sepia
like the picture you showed me
of your childhood.
You once told me you were raised in poverty too, papa.
Are there different kinds of poverty?
Did you get toys to play with
or were your clothes in sepia too?
I told you this sounds like a math problem, papa,
And here’s what doesn't add up.
Isn't a parent supposed to hold their child's hand
and show them how to cross the road?
I remember holding your hand,
looking left-right-left
and matching my steps
with your strides.
Fast, but never run.
Who taught him, papa?
Did he have his own papa to teach him?
How did he learn to walk fast enough
and pull hard enough
so that he and his mom made it across the road in time?
How did he find the strength if he was underfed?
He truly reminds me of Shravan bal,
because who else would carry his mother
across such distances.
I told you it sounds like Vikram Vetal, papa,
and now that I think about it, it really does.
Maybe this little boy is a young king.
Maybe he brings his vetal back home every day.
Maybe he hears her talk about her day.
And maybe, papa,
when he succeeds every night,
she saves him from an evil tantric.
An evil tantric called hunger.
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 11:07 AM UTC
Saw women
Waiting at the bus stop
Heard the new cinema song
From the advertising vehicle
Asked the stranger sitting near me
Whether he was not going to Pota ashram
In conductor’s seat
Slumbers a traveler without a ticket
Under the label of defense forces,
Two school children
On the Ladies’ seat,
Padre from the local church
“The lady who brings this card is an orphan
Her family was lost in floods
She is the only one for herself and her child
A blue card fell in my lap.
How did I become blind?
Beating time on the stomach,
A Tamil song stretched its arm
Became deaf
A girl became mute
“do you remember this face?”
Sat on the seat for handicapped
With a sense of belonging and righteousness.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 7:05 AM UTC