"handicaps" poems
The eye can hardly pick them out
From the cold shade they shelter in,
Till wind distresses tail and main;
Then one crops grass, and moves about
- The other seeming to look on -
And stands anonymous again
Yet fifteen years ago, perhaps
Two dozen distances surficed
To fable them : faint afternoons
Of Cups and Stakes and Handicaps,
Whereby their names were artificed
To inlay faded, classic Junes -
Silks at the start : against the sky
Numbers and parasols : outside,
Squadrons of empty cars, and heat,
And littered grass : then the long cry
Hanging unhushed till it subside
To stop-press columns on the street.
Do memories plague their ears like flies?
They shake their heads. Dusk brims the shadows.
Summer by summer all stole away,
The starting-gates, the crowd and cries -
All but the unmolesting meadows.
Almanacked, their names live; they
Have slipped their names, and stand at ease,
Or gallop for what must be joy,
And not a fieldglass sees them home,
Or curious stop-watch prophesies :
Only the grooms, and the grooms boy,
With bridles in the evening come.
4k
come back to familiar couches and concerned words that run like bugs across your skin,
back to a sliver of window and never-any-snow-days,
not a ******* one.
nor summers that mean anything but uncomfortable skin,
but what else is there to do but check the weather report?
i’ve got it carved into my palm, butterknife wounds and burned
kisses, your name hurts the best.
(sit with me on a greyhound bus while i drink blue apartment buildings and handicaps)
the clowns are getting crowded in here, little
multicolored car, painted blue eyes and i will never stop dancing in big shoes, but
compromising is the most useful major i could choose. learn how to;
stop saying i, stop saying no, stop consuming the eyes of boys
very far out of my reach, forget your very special language of misunderstood gestures and
keep getting older
the orange-bleached days in the company of my 24-hour loves were worth it, worth
every salty confession shed off the side of the Belle,
worth losing faith in everything else. maybe, someday,
we can share headphones.
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 4:57 PM UTC
When I was a girl I loved cars and Kim Possible
And green rocks I’d find in the pebble fillings of our school playgrounds,
Because they were rare and therefore special.
I read twenty books on gemstones and minerals and stared at the pictures for hours
Hoping one day I could be beautiful and solid and reflect the colours
You can’t see
If you burn your retinas looking directly at the sun.
When I was a girl I became a driveway because I thought
If I paved myself with tarmac or cement
I’d be hard enough to withstand the weight of everyone around my heart
And grounded enough to support myself,
But the construction workers forgot to check for groundwater
And I caved in when people decided
To unapologetically and unquestioningly park their ***** in the handicap spot,
Mistaking the importance of my handicaps for the importance of their egos.
When I was a girl I became an asteroid,
Seeking a gravitational pull around a star that would give me a name and meaning.
But instead I found a black hole,
And before I realised my mistake in universal direction
Her gravity obliterated me
And absorbed whatever the **** was left
Of the force I could have been.
When I was a person I became a tree,
Rooted to the earth rather than separate
And absorbing the light for sustenance.
I’ve forgotten what it means to be hardened,
But even my cells have walls around them
And now I’m as afraid of the ground as I am of the sky
And brave enough to reach into both
And just maybe find some answers in the crust or clouds.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC
Yesterday night I was there on a bus.
Road was jammed and was a muss.
Bus was empty, travelers were few.
Amidst the jam it crawled through.
Soon I got curious about two old chaps;
Sitting on seats marked 'for handicaps'.
They were different from common folk.
Without making any sound they spoke.
To talk some sign language they used.
I didn't understand and was confused.
Different ****** expression they made.
Lips and hands moved, heads swayed.
With hand they wrote on other's hand.
They savvied but I didn't understand.
On the next stoppage halted the bus.
Holding each other both left without fuss.
I looked but my vision came to a naught;
Mind got occupied with their thought.
Many languages recognized and known.
But their language had beauty of its own.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 9:18 PM UTC
Meant for more from birth
Carried in satin like a god
I do not envy you
When I succeed it is a surprise
Something met with pride
Due to lack of expectation
The Underdog Advantage
When you succeed it is anticipated
Should have been more
Greater in size and worth
Living up to your destiny
I do not envy your
Royal Disadvantage
In this great race
The start line may begin
With varied handicaps
But the finish line is in turn
Equal distance
I do not believe in Royal Design
We are all nothing to begin with
Nothing simply looks different depending on
Where you're standing.
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 3:42 AM UTC
Americans ... Is it just Americans you're talking
about here Trump? ...
those chosen,
those special people,
those singular red-blooded people,
because I'm a little confused here
as you didn't seem to consider Syrian
refugees as bleeding the same red blood
even when it flowed so freely for them over
there in their pitiless homeland,
& Hispanic immigrants,
they bled red too,
or being rapists & murderers
was it a tainted red?
& black folks?
was their blood red?
from reading your White Supremacist
re-tweets I figured darker skinned Americans
had some innate handicaps or un-American
tendencies & thus their blood was a might
different to us white folks,
& Muslims?
do they bleed red too?
or is it a special breed of red,
an Islamic red?
a special sort of red that favors
deportation as says Brietbart news
or that forbids them entry as per your
unforgivable attempt at en-masse criminalization.
There was no bleeding of the same red blood
as you appealed to the lowest denominator in
white folk bigotry during your successful rise
to top of the heap in Republican vengefulness,
bitterness & just plain Supremacist American
red blooded horror was there?
No, there wasn't.
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 10:14 PM UTC
The monsters in my mind
Are taunting me through eyes
That laugh at me,
Scratch at me,
And beg for time to play.
The monsters in my mind
Distort my face,
Curl my lips into a snarl of pure disdain.
My skin and nose become reptilian,
The hands that touch my features
Become claws of smoke.
I laugh at my shell, it is a joke.
The monsters in my mind
Allow no time for rest.
They coo at me,
Bleeding for attention.
Timid, I close my eyes.
My attempt is feeble,
And the monsters are inside.
My shell takes shape,
It bends to their temptation.
They have control of me,
And I am pushed aside.
The monsters in my mind
Are always there.
Each glimpse of my reflection
Reveals my inner self,
But my eyes hold their stare.
The monsters are aware,
I usher them back in, but to where?
My mind is not my own,
This is not my face.
I do not recognize myself,
Has this become my fate?
The monsters in my mind
Are keeping me awake.
They are alert,
And cannot be tamed.
I am screaming, crawling,
Begging for relief.
My eyes mist from the thought
Of them leaving me.
But who can I tell?
Who can see?
The monsters in my mind are me.
Who could understand my dependency?
They cannot see my claws of smoke
Or hear my hooves
As they tap on the petrified wood
That encases the entrance to my darkest fears,
My deepest secrets,
The parts of my mind that frighten
And intrigue me.
The monsters in my mind
Are cruel.
They are my secret burden,
My constant delight.
They plague my eyes to see
Livid dreams of what could be.
They need attention,
They feed on my weakness,
They devour my light,
And I am grateful.
I enjoy the familiar prickle
That shudders over my shell as they enter my mind,
Controlling my thoughts.
It consumes me,
Washing over me like ****
The monsters in my mind
Hold me captive.
I am Stolkholmed to their urges.
I hold no breath that resists the be tainted
By their gruesome illusions.
They entice me,
Feed me,
Satisfy me,
Until my gluttony physically handicaps me.
I try to stop, I attempt to purge my mind,
But when they ask me why
I lose my will to try.
The monsters in my mind
Never fault.
I am laughing at the pain,
The idea of harm doesn’t hurt.
They will never fail,
I will never waste.
I am them,
And they are me.
There are monsters in my mind
And though I know no rest
I am at peace.
Death no longer frightens me.
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 9:33 PM UTC
Intro:
Humanity balances in the grasp of a belief of a higher order a belief that handicaps and restrains us from our true self and what we desire to become just for the fact to be in a nirvana that nobody has proof that it is real
For we could know we all could be going to hell for the corrupted society and government we live in
Poem:
They wanna lock me outa of sight for not recieving any contacts
That the lord and savior had givin out to me
Then i beheaded a ************ for his contacts
i hide the body where nobody could see
See the devil in my eyes with his contacts
Now my eyes are blacker than the bottom of the sea
Everybody knows that were going to hell
Everybody knows that we will never be free
Apr 20, 2021
Apr 20, 2021 at 6:35 PM UTC
The manicured lawn behaves splendidly all summer
never pushing its way through the throngs
of flower beds and razor cut edges.
How pleasant to look at a tempting golf course
in my backyard with no nine holes in it
but a coffee club sunk just out of sight of the lawn-mower blades!
I guess that's a way away from the lady of the house
who cannot always see how men must tamper
with manicures and pedicures with brazen coffee cup
tricks to catch a bit of practice on handicaps and nine holes!
I like those Sundays, especially, when she goes off to bombard
the saints with a litany of rosary beads and complaints
on why I bring the outdoor golfing into her indoor lawns!
I don't want to talk about how poor my putting is though!
If I had all the money in the world tucked into my bank account
I could go off and buy me an 18 hole ecstasy
but that's not possible. So until my numbers show up
on the one dollar ticket, I'm happy to build my dream
on this one hole, 10 sq yard coffee cup implanted
retirement plan. How about you?
Author Notes
Mini golf course at home.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
If consistency makes an artist,
then I shall never be one.
If it is pain,
then I once was one.
If it is love,
then why am I not still one?
Is true happiness not enough to fill an artist?
Is there more inspiration to be found in the dark- when there is nothing to see and everything to feel?
Has any artist ever been truly happy?
Must one suffer for their art?
More so, must art be a burden?
Then, was Christ, himself, an artist?
(My God, the burden he had to bear.)
Was Nietzsche right- that, poets exploit their experiences?
Why do we deprive ourselves of contentment, of sleep, of peace of mind?
Why do we **** our own bodies, poison our livers, starve our own souls in the pursuit of a muse?
We are, all of us, restless,
half-empty,
half-witted,
half-hearted,
fools,
that have fallen in love with pretty words.
Idolators, we are.
Sometimes, I wonder, if we're afraid that silence can ****
Or that, if we're not screaming at the top of our lungs, we're not alive.
Idle pens are handicaps.
Idle minds- cancer.
We're all dying not to become utilitarians.
Ugly.
Artless.
lifeless?
We'll die just to hold onto the shadow of our own hopes and dreams.
If it is commitment that makes an artist,
then I shall never be one.
If it is wreck-lessness,
then I once was one.
If it is thoughtful articulation,
then why am I not still one?
I now know that,
I am not an artist.
I will not break my own heart.
I will not cut my own throat just to amplify my voice.
Mar 10, 2011
Mar 10, 2011 at 6:47 PM UTC
He was not beautiful.
Unlike the others, those spectacular animals
That grew exotic, wild
He was cultivated carefully
Handicaps tied to a splint
Hold him up and covered in burlap
--Milkfed--
Long ago, he had played his card for Unique
And got a handful of Subtle Wrongness
Poor thing, pitiful and susceptible to the hunt,
Described remotely in their ****** chant
A sign, a portent dropped
With ominous carelessness
It's inevitable--
Gross ineptitude, even without the physical weakness,
Is no match for Chaos
You know the end...
The Beast
Will feast
Dec 31, 2011
Dec 31, 2011 at 6:48 PM UTC
The drive home
From a unknown
Black circles under my eyes
The headlights of oncoming traffic
Come at me with a strainful glow
Twinkling like diamonds
Or snowflakes in the sun
Windows black, handicaps vision
The “hum” of my exhaust
Constant behind my ears
Tread slamming the pavement
It could all disappear
Right in front of me
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 5:19 PM UTC
you got this rattle in your chest
like the timing belt in your heart's been limping towards death since birth
it always hurt to listen to
so here
here's the message at the bottom of the bottle
you spend so many nights studying
as if perhaps
you might actually remember what it read when the sun assaults your head come morning
here's what you been begging every fair-haired eve to whimper
as you slip her a dose of your hand-crafted love-sludge on her boyfriend's couch
this is the truth i learned about you seven years ago
while you spilled your guts on my favorite boots
you really were cute
all campfire-light and anguish as you visably contemplated introducing your hand to my chest
you're different
not just from me
but from everyone you meet in every pub on any street
and for some reason
you seem to think that means that they don't see you
they see you
you're scared
not of dissappointing onlookers
but of disappointing yourself in some manner you can't help
so you help yourself to whatever opportunity you can find
to exhibit boisterously the ******* you think they see you as
you're too smart to be so stupid
and you're hurt
i get it
i've heard your monsters howling through your head
everytime you ever used my bed to rest it
but that's not an excuse to pull the dumb **** that you do
that's not a reason to abandon whatever sense of self-worth you once grasped
oh
handsome boy
the wounds of your past are not handicaps
no
pain catalysts enlightenment
and i meant to tell you that night
'long the river in the fire light
that you're going to be alright
that you'll survive
so long as you give up the act that you're the only one who's ever felt like that
hurt just proves you've still got feeling
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 3:16 AM UTC
Greetings, Sky.
I have been away.
It's been years,I reckon.
But I have not forgotten how tenderly you cradled me like the grandmother I never had.
I loved you like a love dream and you loved me back.
And yes,I remember,
How like a ball was every night,when the stars danced to sweet cosmic tunes!
How like an encounter with God Himself, Reading to me the story of creation!
But how like a dream,
It ended!
I came to you the other night,
For the sake of a humble discourse.
I talked at the top of my lungs,
And you didn't answer.
Everything has changed.
I must add,
That friend who often visited you with me,
The one who was very fond of you,
Wants to rid himself of his own existence now.
But so would I wish on myself, should you remain indifferent,any longer.
Why! God!
Why the inevitability of certain circumstances handicaps us, to even practise our own will?
I,thus in shame cry and bid you adieu,
And I pray we mend our friendship anew!
Apr 9, 2019
Apr 9, 2019 at 12:24 PM UTC
I detest what you've made me become
you ******* hate me
I just don't understand why
and I try
oh do I ******* try
but to communicate the recipient mustnt be a brick wall
A week ago you loved me
now I'm beneath your hellos however have enough energy to talk about me
while I still can't fathom how I can't call you up about the thing I just saw that I knew would make you laugh
the thought of that incapability handicaps me.
I don't even try to watch the same channels anymore because I know those situations where I'll lift myself from the couch only to collapse back down because you don't even want to see my number on your caller ID
I try not to but I cry.
I cleanse my body from this pressure that has harden me from the inside out
I feel so deeply I turned the feelings you've infected me with into water
I begin to breathe
To realize I can't feel
youve seen me and want none of it.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 11:26 AM UTC
It's hard to watch a brother die
But his impact cannot be denied...
His Polio damage at four was hard
At year eighty-seven he died.
Between those sad years he stood pretty tall.
But not once did he have it made...
Trudging his way through hunger and challenge
Leaving smiles in the hardest decade.
Not ever to ask for a quarter
No charity taken, his role.
Nothing handed to him on a platter
His crutches a quite heavy toll.
Depression years were his to defeat--
The young man filled family plates
By pencils he sold when jobs were not there
Those cold evenings he sold them till late
Later he met his most wonderful wife
Where his biggest dream was fulfilled.
Handicaps never slowed down his life
He had a warm spirit still
Frail but inspired, he always aspired....
His story, a story of will.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 7:44 PM UTC
Why is it so hard to find my voice
In the cacophony of large gatherings,
Yet so easy to draw on paper, words
Silently arrayed into profound meaning?
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 7:58 AM UTC
I envy those who're not afraid of living,
of life and all the possibilities it brings,
as I clamber cowardly in my corner,
towards nowhere, in circles,
crippled by my fear of the unknown future
I admire those who walks straight in front of their own handicaps,
as I hunch my spine scraping for my confidence and self worth
I wish my image can stand tall to fulfill who I really am,
but one says, and one knows the journey to the summit of one's self is trying and arduous,
and somehow sometimes I found doubts are easier to find, and belief is the rarest jewel
BELIEVE
but are you really the key?
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 4:52 PM UTC
I'm trying to match
the beat of my heart with yours,
and I'm beginning to truly understand
what the basis of an abusive relationship
is like. We're nothing but porcelain
dolls
that have shattered into a million
shards, and glued back together into
a mocking semblance of "what if"...
Parts of our anatomy
are missing, now: hands, so that
we can't
hold one another, my cognitive
dissonance
so that I may never fully feel the handicaps and
disabilities
of You+Me.
But I can't
just leave.
You are a fraction of my soul.
I am an even lesser fraction of yours.
I should be afraid
of the fact that we've deteriorated
into nothing but shadows, fleeting
and haunting each other's heads.
But I am more afraid
that it's just me
who feels this way-
that I'm alone with your ghosts,
while you never
even saw
mine at all.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 10:49 AM UTC
"I've given it up."
"Given what up?
*** love, the works."
"What, like you're not going to try anymore?"
"Yeah, no more. I'm done, I've had it!"
"Wow, done. How long has it been?"
"Two weeks."
"And you feel better?"
"I feel like shit. Every day I think about it, all the time." "It's all I can think about!"
"Then why don't you try again?"
"No, I can't, I'm done, it's just another thing that handicaps me."
"Yeah, but it's great."
"Yeah, well I'm done. I'd rather be miserable than walk with a limp, no more."
"You'll be back one day. You'll break down."
"Yeah maybe…but for now, I'm done."
"What does Kathrine think about all this?"
"She doesn't know yet."
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 8:23 PM UTC
The thing about privilege,
Is that it is not our fault,
Like our biological *** our name, our lot in life,
It's handed to us the moment we're born,
Wired in DNA and red strings of fate,
Strings that form a safety net for one and a noose for the next.
It's our advantage,
Head starts while the rest have handicaps,
But this advantage against the disadvantaged,
It makes us lose our vantage point,
It's not our fault, it was handed to us on a gold platter,
And it's our job to make the changes,
That make the world fair.
Dealt the tattslotto number of existence,
Our road smoothed down,
The right race, the right gender,
Right religion, the right neighbourhood,
Things we didn't fight for and disregard,
Diss and say is too hard.
But the only race that should matter is the one of life,
And helping those who fell behind, forced behind,
And to help them cross the finish line,
I don't want to stand on the mountain top alone,
Join me up here, together with free flowing air,
And if you can't make it on your own,
It's our privilege to help you there.
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 7:07 AM UTC
Nothing worth reporting besides the usual
Importance of ignoring negligent thoughts
That seek to destroy me,
Harboring inside me,
A caged bird with a broken wing.
Hope calls out in many ways,
Still your surroundings to hear its bays.
Quiet. Listen.
It’s seeking you in earnest,
Its mysterious hands fiddling with
The lock of your entrapment.
Soon, you will have the strength
To pursue all of your dreams.
But right now, you’re too consumed
By the hopelessness of your confinement.
The bars disappear when you look at them
A certain way. Illusory, these posts, these chains.
Break free, some sympathy may come your way,
And unleash you, teach you how to fly with your handicaps.
Don’t look back, once you’re released -
Fly over the valleys and the rivers, wherever you please.
Fly brave, fly free.
Continue to seek
All that seems out of your reach.
Bathe in the waterfalls of your fortune.
It’s yours, after all.
You have this as your guiding motion.
Snap back to your present situation.
You see the cage, you feel your stuntedness,
Your loss from grace,
From freedom, the chase,
You so earnestly thought you’d finally taste.
One day, it’s yours.
Just hold on to hope, on to your scope,
The sights and the breeze under your wings,
It’s all yours, always has been, always will,
And still, I know it stings.
Listen to the way the ocean sings,
Once you make it there, I know you will,
But for now, let the ink spill and spell
Your own misfortune, your own destruction,
Slowly deteriorating any sense of fruition.
I know you want to give up on these ghosts,
But they are yours to catch with a gilded net,
So let them go, if you choose, but remember
You’ll have to live with regret that you never pursued
Beyond the bars that immobilize you, like roots.
You were meant to travel and traverse,
The universe will push you towards your path.
Do not listen to those who jeer and laugh.
You know your purpose. Listen, it’s there.
What your inner voice guides is your truth to bear.
Jun 21, 2020
Jun 21, 2020 at 3:00 PM UTC
Something soft flutters in the corners your mind -
stamp out the handicaps he gave to you once,
they don't apply here.
Brush off the little fragments of voices
that torment your sleep
He won't hurt you this time.
This time it is soft, gentle
a burden drowns itself on your fear
and dissolves into mist.
Have you missed this?
But you never had this, you had
pity *** and shame and washing your skin raw but never feeling clean;
you had
fights and giving in and losing a bit of yourself every time you said okay,
you had him
slamming fists into walls and
slamming fingers into you, but darling
you never had love
until the next one placed his hands on your tired shoulders
and gave you the warmth of
every fragile unveiled promise that the universe can hold -
you never had love until
he took you into his arms and showed you to embrace the world with a bleeding heart, full to the brim with
fresh starlight and an endless string of "maybes",
because maybe
you love him.
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 11:04 PM UTC
He has endured a chronic pain
Both in his heart and in his worn-out soul
At least his heart beats
There is air in his lungs
He yearns to be more
Than a mannequin
wearing the uniform of the
"underprivileged American."
He might have handicaps
That people notice more than his soul
"To help the world and invent newer items of luxury and of life's ease"
Are the successes that he so desperately wants
If only the investors and people around him could see
Placing stock into a brilliant, but, limited soul
can bring them new collections of creation
to enjoy their own life and
make it through everyday tasks
with ease.
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 8:25 PM UTC