"handled" poems
I was born out of fur and cotton,
With eyes that were shiny, black buttons.
From the store rack, I always watched the distant tree.
But one fine day, this little girl picked me.
My owner handled me with great care.
I was, after all, her beloved teddy bear.
I seemed to be her biggest comfort,
When she couldn't sleep or she felt troubled.
Years passed by and so did my time.
The little girl didn't need her teddy when she cried.
As I lay with the other toys in the attic,
I realized that my short life was quite tragic.
"Mr. Cuddles! Your child's best friend!"
But who's going to care about me in the end?
I played my part. I stayed with you.
But in the end this is what it came to.
Mr. Cuddles, the lonely one.
Who lies in the attic with his fur undone.
The cotton keeps falling out of his limb,
The once happy bear now lays grim.
-Wayward❤
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 1:57 PM UTC
Fettered by syrupy curves
of well-handled prose. Exposed,
prone. Bound to bleed
maraschino in free-verse.
Nov 10, 2011
Nov 10, 2011 at 3:37 PM UTC
Over a period of time difference of opinion leads to debate following which mutual understanding might take place.
Somewhere down the line,
something might click,
then signs of mutual understanding will be there in offing.
Mutual understanding will bring the much needed change,
a change that's desired,
since it also fulfills the need of hour.
If mutual understanding takes place, then nothing like that since it moves in the direction of drawing a line of conclusion, which is the only reason because of which the debate commenced.
If mutual understanding is still a viable option,
yet far away,
then it’s time to keep negotiation apart and away from been a part of the debate.
Finally difference of opinion can lead to something positive and healthy, if the debate that is ensued following a difference of opinion is in the right direction,
in right spirit,
focus remaining on point of concern,
substance with regards to what’s going on in mind is not disturbed in anyway,
most importantly the debate is held on proper grounds.
Difference of opinion is also a sign for something constructive, if the mind is determined to make sure that the odds which are going to come along the way will not only be handled and tackled, but also taken out and taken away from the way of getting things done.
Finally it’s difference of opinion that makes team work interesting, if it is taken in the right spirit at the given moment in time.
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 6:49 AM UTC
word of your alleged affiliations reached me weeks after it was all said and done; she was now queen of your world and I became a mild sore in your side like I feared I would
I don't know why I'm surprised. I never amounted to much anyway. I often let my feet burn in the running bath water just to feel something besides a building wall of anxiety in my chest.
I often dreamt about you. also about her - that walking prayer with a Devil's torch. I could've handled my tears if it weren't for the coffee shop you two were admiring in my dreams. do you remember my favorite place?
a nightmare is a dream until it becomes your reality. sometimes when I wake in a cold sweat complete with tremors, the breeze still smells of expresso and pastry
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 9:58 PM UTC
Artists are like crystals
Must be handled with care
One slip
Oops!
You loose it all there
However
On the brighter side
Even if they shatter
They still glint
Whatever be the matter
Crystal cleaving
May scatter the lusture
But the process
Can never douse the dazzle
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 5:42 AM UTC
To cook something beautiful
You need a few unsightly ingredients.
Like to make a cake
You need flour and baking soda
Baking powder, sugar, and a hint of salt
Water and eggs.
They aren't appealing to look at
By themselves
Or even when mixed together.
But when handled right,
And with a little time
Love and care
An oven and a spatula
You conform them into exactly the right shape
And those unsightly ingredients become
A tasty treat,
But what's a cake without frosting?
It's something bigger than what it was.
It's a combination
The frosting makes it more
Visually appealing,
It masks the overly cooked
Side.
Some air pockets from
An inexperienced
Or careless chef.
It's masks imperfections.
You can't force a cake to become perfect.
It needs time,
it needs love,
it needs care.
Dare I say it again,
It needs time,
It needs love,
It needs care.
When the cake
Gets those, and is left alone
To bake,
To think about what it's job is,
To not just be beautiful
Covered in frosting
But without it as well,
You'll have the best ****
Cake you've ever made.
It won't be over done on one side
Or the other,
It won't have air bubbles,
It'll glisten and gleam,
And be pristine.
You'll have a cake
Beautiful
On the inside and out.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
Better Philippines.. Go Federalism Now!
R oad to a new Republic of the Philippines
o nward to the era of Federalism government
d ays are gone when power is handled by the few
r ich pen become richer and the poor even poorer
i t's time our country will be run by a man with a vision
g overn the Philippines according to the will of the majority
on the basis of basic rights and privileges as local citizens.
R eal leader is someone who stands for the people
o n the realization of their basic needs and ambitions
and who leads by example and can implement the laws.
D uterte is the man of the hour
u nder Federalism form of government
t he local government can obtain bigger budget
e xtracted from its own income and tax collection
r ealistic projects of the LGU can be materialized
t hen better and faster urbanization will implemented
end the corruption and criminality, support the President!
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 12:33 AM UTC
William Zanzinger killed poor Hattie Carroll
With a cane that he twirled around his diamond ring finger
At a Baltimore hotel society gath'rin'
And the cops were called in and his weapon took from him
As they rode him in custody down to the station
And booked William Zanzinger for first-degree ******
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears
Take the rag away from your face
Now ain't the time for your tears
William Zanzinger, who at twenty-four years
Owns a tobacco farm of six hundred acres
With rich wealthy parents who provide and protect him
And high office relations in the politics of Maryland
Reacted to his deed with a shrug of his shoulders
And swear words and sneering, and his tongue it was snarling
In a matter of minutes on bail was out walking
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears
Take the rag away from your face
Now ain't the time for your tears
Hattie Carroll was a maid of the kitchen
She was fifty-one years old and gave birth to ten children
Who carried the dishes and took out the garbage
And never sat once at the head of the table
And didn't even talk to the people at the table
Who just cleaned up all the food from the table
And emptied the ashtrays on a whole other level
Got killed by a blow, lay slain by a cane
That sailed through the air and came down through the room
Doomed and determined to destroy all the gentle
And she never done nothing to William Zanzinger
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears
Take the rag away from your face
Now ain't the time for your tears
In the courtroom of honor, the judge pounded his gavel
To show that all's equal and that the courts are on the level
And that the strings in the books ain't pulled and persuaded
And that even the nobles get properly handled
Once that the cops have chased after and caught 'em
And that the ladder of the law has no top and no bottom
Stared at the person who killed for no reason
Who just happened to be feelin' that way without warnin'
And he spoke through his cloak, most deep and distinguished
And handed out strongly, for penalty and repentance
William Zanzinger with a six-month sentence
Oh, but you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears
Bury the rag deep in your face
For now's the time for your tears
7k
Can I write you a love song
I’ll sing it softy in your ear all night long
Blow gently without words on my saxophone
Diamond and Pearls behind the throne
A beautiful ensemble meant for only you
As I give credence too
Take my hand
Cross this journey with me as I sing about faraway lands
Past Egypt pyramids shifting Morocco sands
Lay back my love, allow your mind to silently drift
Feel the enchantment of my piano keys as it spiritual uplifts
I’ll sing love songs of old
A cappella chorus echoed from deep within my enlighten soul
I’ll sing to you about the blues, society’s injustice, and elements of darken storms
Keep your heart warm, while playing my French Horn
Enrapture foretold from this dedicated symphonic poem
A music sheet of percussion, woodwind, brass, keyboard, and strings
Harmony carrying the mind away as the joy of coming spring
I’ll hum your favorite beats, can you feel the crescendo now
Fiddle from the heart by the sweat of one’s brow
Submerge your cerebral cortex, lose yourself in the sultry tunes
Harp sounds bathe of light kissed from the illuminating moon
Destiny overcasts in the lyrics
Fate floating stratospheric
Karma of others handled in the eyes of satiric
Opera, I give you so grand in its grace
French Creole dialect murmured among silk and lace
Sounds of my flute resonant to face
Allowing my Cello sounds to thoroughly embrace
Can I write you a love song
Body and soul serenading soprano to keep you standing strong
My guitar stringing your philosophies along
An equal equation, one plus one equals two
Emotions, feelings, sentiments, its tenor expressed only for you
No compass to my heart, my seasonal love found in hidden melodies
Trombone guiding back and forth breathless as it please
Orchestra sounds
Ascending minds, bodies, souls, pass the opening clouds, divine and profound
The last note sung by me as we gradually come down
Beautiful music embraced, needs never to make a sound
Shh, close your eyes
Meditate on the music for a little while
Hush sweet baby don’t say a word
My heart softly tweets to a mockingbird
If that mockingbird don’t sing
Can I write you a love song created only for your being
As minds are sightseeing
Hearts fleeing
Timpani drums guaranteeing
Entwined of our divine wellbeing
Emotions freeing
Crooning of bodies heard as the day is long
Can I write you a love song
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 10:39 AM UTC
Some truths are told in anger,
Some truths are told in vain,
Sometimes there’s value in candor,
Sometimes truth just causes pain.
Some truths told aren’t told on purpose,
Some come out without consent,
Some when told do a great disservice,
No matter how honorable their intent.
Some truths are never told,
Away in drawers they’re kept,
Things gilded still shine like lustrous gold,
And dry are tears long wept.
I once had a truth I tried to speak,
But it was spoken by another prematurely,
I saw it happen, my voice was weak,
I handled it like a child and far too immaturely.
What was exposed could not be taken back,
It was a point of no return,
I was indignant, it all turned black,
I wanted the world to burn.
And burn it did,
But only mine,
Down hard I slid,
The real world was fine.
With time gone by, I must admit a lesson I learned,
The truth really does set you free,
But to whom my truth concerned,
I can only apologize, it should’ve come from me.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 2:15 PM UTC
Shucking peas on the back steps
Maureen and I watch her Mum,
My Aunt Grace,
Arguing with Aunt Edna
In the kitchen
The narrow kitchen
Of number 84 Truro Road
As they whip a Sunday lunch into shape
A test match drones on the radio
The aroma of mint on new spuds teases.
It’s a modest roast
Served in the tiny parlor
To nine of us!
Eating elbow to elbow
With yellow handled knives and forks
Down to the bare porcelain
Waiting for the apple pie
with Libby’s.
That crust, with sugar sprinkles
Is a lifetime goal for me!
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC
~
June 2023
HP Poet: Patty Mager
Country: USA
Question 1: Welcome to the HP Spotlight, Patty. Please tell us about your background?
Patty M: "I was born an only child in a 3 generation household. I loved books, and playing imaginary games, and chasing my mom with really long nightcrawlers, my Grandpa raised in a washtub. I was a banker, and a financial banker for many years. I quit to do hospice for my Dad when he was to go into hospice. My husband had heart problems and my little Mom eventually got Cancer. So I nursed and loved them all. My Dad for a year, the others over an 8-year period. I saw the transition of each and the way each handled their ending, and I was there for them all. I consider that a special blessing."
Question 2: How long have you been writing poetry, and for how long have you been a member of Hello Poetry?
Patty M: "I always wrote, but I found a poetry site 20 years ago, and began to write seriously. I've been published in many anthologies both in the US and abroad. I was nominated for the coveted Pushcart Prize twice and I once had a three-page spread in our local newspaper. I came to HP in 2014 and I love this special place with amazingly wonderful poets who have become really great friends."
Question 3: What inspires you? (In other words, how does poetry happen for you).
Patty M: "Sometimes poems seem to write themselves, almost like automatic writing."
Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?
Patty M: "Poetry is spiritual, and a lifesaving rope that carries me through both good and the horrible times of my life."
Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?
Patty M: "My favorite Poets are: Sylvia Plath, Neruda, Billy Collins, Maya Angelou, Poe, Ginsberg, Anne Sexton, and Longfellow."
Question 6: What other interests do you have?
Patty M: "I love to cook, do crossword puzzles, read, and play card games like canasta, and spider solitaire. Being with family is my heaven."
Carlo C. Gomez: “Thank you so much for allowing me to interview you, dear Patty! I learned a great deal about you!”
Patty M: "Thank again Carlo. Thanks so much for all your help and kindness."
Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed getting to know Patty a little bit better. I indeed did. It is our wish that these spotlights are helping everyone to further discover and appreciate their fellow poets. – Carlo C. Gomez (aka Mr. Timetable)
We will post Spotlight #5 in July!
~
Jun 1, 2023
Jun 1, 2023 at 5:56 PM UTC
Abortions will not let you forget.
You remember the children you got that you did not get,
The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair,
The singers and workers that never handled the air.
You will never neglect or beat
Them, or silence or buy with a sweet.
You will never wind up the sucking-thumb
Or scuttle off ghosts that come.
You will never leave them, controlling your luscious sigh,
Return for a snack of them, with gobbling mother-eye.
Abortions will not
Let you remember the child
Or scuttle off ghosts that come.
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 3:46 PM UTC
I kept my answers small and kept them near;
Big questions bruised my mind but still I let
Small answers be a bullwark to my fear.
The huge abstractions I kept from the light;
Small things I handled and caressed and loved.
I let the stars assume the whole of night.
But the big answers clamoured to be moved Into my life. Their great audacity
Shouted to be acknowledged and believed.
Even when all small answers build up to
Protection of my spirit, still I hear
Big answers striving for their overthrow.
And all the great conclusions coming near.
5.1k
I keep my answers small and keep them near;
Big questions bruised my mind but still I let
Small answers be a bulwark to my fear.
The huge abstractions I keep from the light;
Small things I handled and caressed and loved.
I let the stars assume the whole of night.
But the big answers clamoured to be moved
Into my life. Their great audacity
Shouted to be acknowledged and believed.
Even when all small answers build up to
Protection of my spirit, I still hear
Big answers striving for their overthrow
And all the great conclusions coming near.
4.9k
Don't touch me,
I'll break.
I'm made of glass,
You see.
But, that's right;
you already knew that about me.
It's why you tiptoe
whenever we meet,
and turn down music
with a piercing beat.
You remember that I'm fragile—
to be handled with care.
Don't dance near me.
Don't you dare.
You know what would happen—
you know that it's true—
I'd shatter, I'd break,
and I might cut you.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 11:52 PM UTC
We all want to feel like flashing lights
but we're just stained silverware:
rusty, dusty, *****
old, unappreciated,
hidden deep inside the closet.
We're only good for certain occasions
when we're brought out
handled with care, doused in vinegar
scraping the age of our backs
bringing us into Life, anew.
Yet some sets fit certain settings.
Appetizer? Main Course? Dessert? Dish Washer? Dropped on the floor?
Sometimes none at all because
we can be "made in china"
or from fine china.
*And I hated the feeling I got
sitting in the middle of the table like a tuning fork
where everyone was passing food around
and I was just vibrating in their rhythm and sound.
I've been through many sets
much not quite like this.
Still life repeats itself like history
speaking of which, is actually me.*
*I've been held but never used,
maybe I have but not in the right way.
I was made to look like a fool
and I feel*
**just.
that.**
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
I.
An unending desire to relinquish power
must be handled with care.
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 9:49 PM UTC
I'm addicted to having my heart broken
Sometime while he's groping my chest
He rips my heart out of it
I live for being lied to
Keeping my eyes covered staying blind
As to only rely on his words
I'm crazy about being a game piece
To be handled and moved wherever he pleases
For toys are meant to be played with
Mostly though
I'm addicted to having my heart broken
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 9:08 PM UTC
I had a dream This
One time where you were
All up inside and I was
all upsidown at camp
and there was rain and baked challah
with hair and dirt inside, but hey
why argue with free food?
And you were feeling me, making my hair stand
On edge and taking your time
Even though an avalanche was ready to hit
Come, bury me in snow and leave me to die in
Ecstasy, come, throw me off a building and
Let me fall into your dark
Gaze but don't let my boyfriend know, I don't
Let the devil out to play when he's around.
Baby, your fingers were lightning, breath like
Cigarette smoke and can you do
The french inhale because I want to be hot
Hot for you, but not only you
Don't forget, I like to roam wild, test
How far I can get you to go.
Manipulative? Nay, ingenious.
But somehow, you end up on
Top, getting me to beg for more, beg for you
To allow me to come and seep through
And you laugh as I grasp at straws,
Smoke some **** boy, its how you feel alive
You're how I feel alive
Passion, pity, cause me pain
But just a little, I like to be handled rough
Hair pulls, slaps, punish me
I've been a bad girl, I've been naughty
Cheating on my boyfriend in my head with you and you're
EVERYTHING THAT HE ISN'T
And nothing that I want him to be, so let
My fantasy continue, see you in hell
You make all my muscles clench with just
A tiny graze of skin, a stupid
Text and I know you don't mean it
You just want some, trying to get down my pants, it's
A game to you
Maybe I want to play
**** I know I want to
Me, a girl like me
As if you could possibly
Hard, let me feel you
As you run your teeth down my
You, stoner boy, make me scream for
Can you make me feel?
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 11:48 PM UTC
In search of enlightenment
I stumble.
EMDR handled my childhood traumas,
Small pebbles can grow into landslides if not checked.
Buddha's mindfulness allowed for some insight,
But being aware of my behaviour does not always lead to course correction,
My personal OnStar can merely suggest direction,
As I am only a passenger on this ride.
I am left strained.
I can see the road
And the beautiful sun set.
I can feel you beside me,
But I do not trust,
I fear
If I look too closely
I will find you gone.
And so I continue
My search for enlightenment,
My lasting hope is
When this journey ends
I will find you there.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 2:01 AM UTC
#
You have brought back these feelings
Resurfaced those fears
Of the fire inside
that had so many tears
A weak flame that was dying
Alive once again
Has now muddied the line
between lover and friend
That's how it goes for me
I don't know about you
The words passing might be
in that moment were true
They kept traveling on
Possibly a comet
As my feelings grow strong
Expectations not met
Once again feel a fool
Even though it's not true
And my heart gave to you
Time again I will do
But this time not the same
It's because you weren't here
Could not reach out and touch
So our bodies weren't shared
Just the words that were said
And the sound of your voice
Resurrect from the dead
Could not stop; Had no choice
Seems like that's how it is
In your lasso I'm snared
All it takes is one tug
And again I will care
Pilot light to a stove
A slight twist and it strikes
You've invaded my heart
Bursting flame will ignite
But if carelessly handled
It's me who gets burned
Walked all over and trampled
Same dolt who won't learn
I have built up the walls
But we're both trapped inside
The tight space is so small
There's nowhere I can hide
Face-to-face with you now
It begins and it ends
I'll get through it somehow
Are we lovers or friends?
#
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 8:56 PM UTC
i’m sorry i cried when you touched me
i wasn’t used to fingers
feeling like feathers
and hands holding me
like a kind of ripe fruit.
lovers before you
were a bit more heavy handed
hard headed
tossing me around like some old toy
that they were tired of
uninspired and
wringing me like
i somehow had the answers
tucked so far in deep.
i am not used to being handled
gently.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 1:20 AM UTC
1.I love my scars, they tell stories of survival, give life to my soul, remind me I am here for a reason, they tell me everything other people let me forget
2.I love my curves, each mountain and valley residing on my sides take pains to protrude and remind me I am soft, delicate, I deserve to be handled with care, I am a woman.
3.I love my taste buds. So what if a steak has 3 million more calories than skinny girl’s bite of lettuce. I am going to eat it anyways and I will be proud, and yes, I will moan, because why, my self worth is not contingent on my jean size
4.I love my laugh. There’s something liberating about your belly shaking until it hurts, your body exploding with joy, giving another human being pleasure with just the touch of your voice.
5.I love that I’m beautiful, something you can’t touch, my glamour goes beyond my blemished skin. I am more than the curves surrounding my center, I am **** I am brave; I am smart. I am fearless wrapped up into 5 feet of glee. You. Cannot. Touch. Me,
6.I love that I’m honest. There’s something refreshing in saying, **** off, you weren’t good for me anyways
7.I love that I’m faithful. Faithful to myself, my dreams, my ambitions. I am more than a man’s lover, I will live my life worthy to the calling I have received, regardless of what price you have placed on me
8.I love that I believe, trust in first loves, don’t doubt passion; it was sincere in the moment, but as that moment collapsed, outstayed its welcome, I believed I was more, and I will be ok, and one day, 10 years down the line, that same moment will come tapping on my door, requesting to visit an old friend
9.I guess in all I love myself, each and every blemish and bruise, every scar I’ve been given. I was not created for your pleasure, but for His glory, I only require myself to wear that badge proudly
10.I love that I am who I am. loud, flamboyant, I am not afraid to speak my mind, which is why, I’m standing here, calling you to action. Take a chance: love yourself.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 9:12 AM UTC
Hypotonic collusions
Rising in osmotic lesions
An eruptive soul reversion
Emissions of embered logs
Each lightening with a glow
A youthful straw of clemency
Pollinated sandals, handled
Gripping the flesh in vessels
Houses of lost and unreal dreams
Vicarage gardens of suppression
Masticated in delegated abstractions
A surmise of death and redistributions
Each a beat rise, slide on frosty ice
Un-enveloped in seasons of erosion
Delusional commotions sprawled
In the dance of the ecstatic programming
The body waved and led in hypnosis
********** with the intangible essence
To make sense a revised tense,I fence
Straying in lenient lunacy to fields afar
A merry to ferry the phoenix dance
Rattles shaking in transit translations
Drums pause settling in finesse pond
A coitus of dimensional valour and vice
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 9:37 AM UTC