"hindered" poems
Never let someone else decide how good you are. And never make an exception to that rule.
Your words, and your unique we of expressing them, are a gift given to you. If someone else doesn't appreciate them, then good for them. It's not their gift, so it has nothing to do with them. Its your responsibility to respect your gifts and to protect them from negativity; typical of these lower life forms, called Haters; annoying little creatures that feed off of other people's energy and hard work - they spawn fairly quickly and dewl in the depths of social media, hidden behind computer and smartphone screens. Usually over-weight, bad breath, single and filthy broke. Hindered by limited hand-eye coordination; they simply **** at every thing. They are pretty pathetic, in person. I mean they look human, but have no spinal cord, so they don't stand up straight. Their habitats similar to that of a large roach, just messier with and more filth. I hear they are contagious, so be careful. Don't let their negativity rub off on you, or you will end up like one of them. A soulless zombie, paroling posts looking for a something stupid to say.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
I found myself fracturing beneath his fists,
Beauty beaten in hues of blue, purple and black,
Like clouded midnight skies, full of rain.
My eyes becoming pools of stars,
Glistening with secrets of pain,
Shining dully into the darkness of our nights.
Saturated with his snide, stingy, cruel colors,
I soaked in his venom,
Becoming canvas for the art of abuse.
And wasn't it beautiful?
These tears in skin hindered no smile,
Bruises like paint, enhancing face,
Pupils shining like diamonds,
Rough and worn, but precious.
Aching bones breaking to rebuild themselves,
Tongue red with biting back curses,
Rosy lips curved and sealed against apologies,
Flesh as hard and gray as stone,
Sharpened against wicked whims and foul words,
Aren't I beautiful -
In all my rainbow tones?
Sep 22, 2021
Sep 22, 2021 at 10:43 AM UTC
1563
By homely gift and hindered Words
The human heart is told
Of Nothing—
“Nothing” is the force
That renovates the World—
7.4k
good morning, my angel
my living lullaby
i glide across the fairest skin, you are the fairest one
of all. Good morning, my mother
my broken candle
you gave me the wax that has melted on many tablecloths
i feel I have lost you now, as I had lost you then.
Good morning, my first love
my little bridge
your mittens were warm when I needed heat
when I was so cold the tears froze onto my cheeks.
you ran me a bath a being
of divinity
we held each other in your father’s tub and laughed
at the bubbling abundance, burgeoning in overflow.
I wake to the puddle of your memory
That has grown since we last met, since I have wept
For the love I have not kept in place. Good
morning hindered lover, who worships me in forbidden light
a thousand songs have yet transpired born
from a single thought of you.
Inhibited inspiration,
camouflage constellation, I kiss you now
though I will always be
Years away from where you lie.
Good morning dear father, a forester
Braver than the lone wolf and his
solitary howl. The lesson of the arthritic toe shows you
True appreciation for the pain of existence.
You are the most loyal flame, my gratitude is overwhelming
Each time I embrace the past and the mistakes, unconscious
From the broken record
And its echo off the wall.
Good mourning to the loss of a lover, an ephemeral flame.
Good mourning to the death of a friendship, to the longing for a ****
Good mourning to the future in its casket,
That awaits a new life for me
In song.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 8:59 PM UTC
I remember the restaurant,
The one Grandpa
Had brought us to –
Window panes in patriotism
And pancakes atop, “America,”
The world revolved,
“America,”
And how we’d made it
“Home” –
So came the syrup, destiny
And fervor caked powder plate.
He knew of my toil, ills, and tolls
Pandered atop horizons
Hindered Mao and red
As we sat near dawn over coffee
And something south of
Conspiracy – opposite my dream
And collusion to **** said
Destiny,
But it was still, “his
America,” not mine and he’d
Sleep when I wouldn’t.
So it pained me, resonant a twitch
Within this small inch of
Remnant family, to tell him,
“We’re going back,
We’re leaving tomorrow,”
And, “I don’t know when I’ll be
Home,” gramps,
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be home,”
And he’d say prior ever’d silent –
“Good luck sleeping on that one,
Son,” I just know he would.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 9:39 AM UTC
No country’s history makes us proud.
It is mere exploitation and colonization.
the poor were suppressed and oppressed.
The rich reveled in utmost luxury
And the weak lived in extreme penury.
The kings were fond of eulogy
And the poets excelled themselves in their elegy.
In the countries like India, the money was looted
the temples were plundered, and the system was blundered
And her progress was greatly hindered
Slowly the kings and kingdoms vanished
the so called democracies and socialism flourished
the bureaucracy and plutocracy replaced autocracy
Corruption and criminality maintained their status quo
After Independence, a new class emerged in India.
They became the rulers in the name of democracy.
There have been un-imaginable scandals
Money reached the Swiss bank like pearls in the ocean
India is a poor country but the Indians are rich
Mar 10, 2011
Mar 10, 2011 at 3:59 AM UTC
In the last hour I dealt with a lot
My own definition of why I look dour
Memories I hid six feet under the ground
Came emerging, grasping, and clawing at me 'till I'm found
Saying what's good for me, but my thoughts aren't considered
Ignored by a mother, a father, a neglected child
A child that mimicked Rapunzel locked up in a tower
A child that had gotten their smile devoured
Each day they get thinner, all hopes get hindered
Clouded thoughts, faded scars, and their music gets louder
A habit to cloak emotions, not being able to shed a tear
Refraining from going to beer, avoiding others out of fear
Consolation comes through rose lenses,
A gun held to their head but not packed with powder
Oct 16, 2020
Oct 16, 2020 at 12:38 PM UTC
I live in the basement, never venturing
upon those stairs, I hear her voice...
"Come up and see me its been to long,
Holding my ears singing my favourite song
repetitively until she is drowned out of
my thoughts. rocks tied to her voice as it
sinks out of view.
I use the stairs that open to the outside,
Lingering looking at this place I called home.
Venturing in the old ford, she lets me drive
it when food is but breadcrumbs and eggs
old enough to birth the dead fetes of a partly
grown bird. I look out though a ***** window
screen, this trip takes two hours each way.
I always wonder if my bald tyres are ever
noticed, but I'm not hindered by the thoughts
of this. So much to see when driving in solitude.
I stop at the side of the road picking cherries,
I slump them in the boot. I may eat upon this
morsel or just hang them outside watching
them swaying in the gentle breeze.
My father just looks out the window.
Doesn't talk much these days his eyes are sunken
like the titanic splintered between two pools.
I move his chair and his arm falls at his side.
collecting it, I put him palms resting on a blanket
He's so gaunt now, he was a strong man now but a shadow.
I look at those cherries lingering above the ground,
shaded from just picked to becoming spoilt, but i
just leave them swaying the aroma fills lungs with
life's eroding perfume, I breath it deeply within.
This is my home, "she never calls me for dinner anymore,
I just make my own, the washing up is festering in
my ignorance, like a garden of petrification flowering.
Saying bye to my dad, I get in the old ford.
Its time to pick some fresh cherries, the tree
is looking unkempt. Its blossom is in honour
of a mother, I hang them all there. My
Mother hung there for a long time ,but she's
long gone. So I bring other cherries to the tree
to show that she'll never be forgotten....
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 8:47 AM UTC
My mind is hindered
Words hard to fathom
How to convey?
Just let the words flow
From pen
To the paper
Connect from the heart
I'll tell you these things, S
I've never felt such as this
For one man,
You
Vulnerable
Yet strong enough
To tell you how I feel
But unsure if you feel the same
Meet my gaze
Feel my touch, my fingertips
Buzzing with electricity
Across the earth to your soul
Static fills our bodies
Embrace the energy we create
Light from within
Will guide us
To a place
Just for us
And us alone
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 3:10 PM UTC
Oppression, a monarch with a crown,
Limits resources in every town.
No reason to hasten, no reason to strive,
Content with meager offerings, barely alive.
With corruption and barriers abound,
Progress is hindered, hope is drowned.
The bright minds, afraid to take flight,
Chained to the system, a slave to the night.
No greater malice than silence so deep,
Stifling progress, and secrets keep.
Perfection in negligence, light in the shade,
Obfuscation the art, truth to evade.
The God that troubles, the tyrants that bind,
Crushing brilliance, dulling the mind.
In quiet desperation, with hopeful elation,
This poem, a message, a call to liberation.
May it strike deep, may it shake the ground,
May it expose the corruption that's found.
May it pierce through the veil, and bring forth the light,
May it break the chains, and set things right.
The oppression, corruption, and silence enthralled,
May they all fall to the might of my words so bold.
May it be a catalyst, a spark that ignites,
A revolution, a change in sight.
I hope my poem strikes a mighty blow,
A wakeup call, for all to know.
The power in words, the power to call,
I hope my poem, I hope my poem kills them all.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 5:33 PM UTC
The music starts
Our directions
Oppose with the wind
But we smile through the wrong steps
Unending search for intersection
Shifting of melody
Another tone
Hindered our duet
Turned out to be the longest song
Until we reached the chorus
As we sing lies
In unison
_
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 11:05 PM UTC
304
The Day came slow—till Five o’clock—
Then sprang before the Hills
Like Hindered Rubies—or the Light
A Sudden Musket—spills—
The Purple could not keep the East—
The Sunrise shook abroad
Like Breadths of Topaz—packed a Night—
The Lady just unrolled—
The Happy Winds—their Timbrels took—
The Birds—in docile Rows
Arranged themselves around their Prince
The Wind—is Prince of Those—
The Orchard sparkled like a Jew—
How mighty ’twas—to be
A Guest in this stupendous place—
The Parlor—of the Day—
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Krypton didn’t fit with anyone,
as it was the unfriendly one,
it never went beyond it’s limits
even if others did loose their limits.
It was from a forlorn world,
nobody cared to say a word,
to this enigma of another world;
no one wanted to share a word.
The nobles were always preoccupied
with their occupied shells,
they never hung out with the occupied,
nor the unoccupied.
Krypton was mistaken for kryptonite.
It wondered every night,
Why they accused it for the assassination?
it didn’t have the power of absorption.
Krypton had very few of it’s kind,
it didn’t know where they were aligned.
He held the hope of being able to be lined,
with the rest of it’s kind.
Poor Krypton, he was on the farthest
arena of the periodic table
it wished if it could turn the table,
so that it can at least act a bit feeble.
Experience taught this novice,
it calculated the calculations,
to traverse the long distance,
fear hindered the transmissions.
Krypton used to think without links
he was one of the stable nobles,
he wasn’t the one that wobbles
and, one of the table’s baubles.
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 4:36 AM UTC
He was the sun.
And she was the moon.
The distance took a toll,
the timing hindered their potential,
and their differences collided.
You see, their paths rarely crossed.
But when they do,
they could not get enough of each other
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC
Here,
i am slowly learning
that i am slightly more deserving
than what i’ve been given in my past
I am always on the right track
onto the next practical coordinates
and i no longer believe in crossing paths
i am a believer in destinations
that is the confidence and pride speaking
when i plan the journey ahead
i am good with direction
not hindered by crossed roads
not the path less travelled or the path created
i am not on your maps
distance is what i have asked for
time and time again i have fallen from a cross road
i am where you cannot find me
you can’t find something you can’t recognize
here at a dead end and still continuing
i am not on any path, but I am
Here
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 9:28 PM UTC
Wandering through a field of flowers,
Petals sway with each gentle breeze,
Only to stumble and embrace the rich soil,
A purple rose to my face, respectfully bowing to it.
Its vibrant purple hue set it apart from the rest,
I was entranced by the way it stood out,
So I knelt down and offered it to dance,
Carefully plucking it from the ground.
The purple rose swayed like a graceful dancer,
As if it were the one controlling the wind's rhythm,
I met an extraordinary partner in this floral waltz,
I lift it above my head, and it twinkled with delight.
What if I let the wind carry you to the sky?
I released the rose, and it vanished from sight,
As darkness enveloped the deep blue sky above,
Only to reveal the moon, with a twinkling star beside it.
Front row seats to admire its beauty,
A hidden gem, beneath all this earthly rubble,
Who knew you'd ascend so high,
Flamboyant and shining ever so bright.
The soil is not where you truly belong,
For it has hindered your growth for so
long,
To stand out, high above, with that radiant glow,
Is what you've always deserved to know.
Oct 13, 2023
Oct 13, 2023 at 1:49 AM UTC
A rose
Given to a lover in a time
Full of joyous happy days spent together
All the while she watches the beautiful symbol of love
Wilt on her window sill
Memories come flooding back of him.
And all they love they shared together.
Months pass by
He is no longer her's.
She hides the rose from her right.
New lovers come and go
Just as the seasons pass by
She finds it one day,
Crisp, fragile, and aged
Time has not hindered its beauty.
Once more she is reminded
Of the love that died.
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 3:06 PM UTC
Snoring gangling giant,
Slumbering away on a snowy
night.
Spoil of war unprotected,
Opening ways for ingress of
worrisome infiltrated
interlopers.
Remember the lord of Philistine
Samusini,
Who returned not from the
seductive antics of his
mistress,
Perished in the furnace fire of
frustration,
And drowned in the Laguna of
no return
Slumbering hindered the move
of the water.
Howling of devourers enclosed
your shack.
Heterocercal caudal fins of
sharks prevented the sailing
of ships.
Wolfished wailing of tidal waves
consumed the anchorage
ground.
And the apparition of foes
lurked-up in darkness like
the foehn on the Alps.
Awake before the devastating
night owl.
Awake from the abyss of deep
slumber.
Awake before the cockcrow,
When darkness of defeats
Controls the reigns of night.
Snoring gangling giant,
Awake unto light.
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 6:40 AM UTC
What I wouldn't give to hide
and break the glass covering my mind
release the tension as it builds up
relieve the steam
let loose the dreams
smell the new horizon spanning my fate
look across my mind's ocean
and forget all of the commotion
caused by my own brain’s turmoil
fixed in the work of turning the soil
the labor, the toil, spanning generations.
Discovering new fields and meadows of the mind
would help, not hinder
a cerebrum such as mine
expanding further past the shore
deeper into the metaphorical earth of conscience
but instead I await a rescue
for, what simply more could I do?
the lines of capable and not so are thicker than before
and I'm on the side of failure
my continuance is dependent upon my hindered success
my mind and my clothes and my body's a mess
I want the shake and break the glass encasing my brain
crack the display case
do more than what is required
but how can I do more when I can't do less?
How can I derail this train of thought that I will never be the best
and I might not even be good.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 2:05 PM UTC
I was just getting a coffee
Grabbed a seat and shut my eyes
My son was in for testing
Having trouble with his eyes
The room was full of parents
Also waiting on some tests
But over in the corner
Sat one boy not like the rest
He was in a wheelchair setup
With knobs and flags, all sorts of gear
He looked at me and smiled
"you're new...I've not seen you here"
I smiled, mumbled something
He smiled back, said "it's ok."
Then he wheeled himself beside me
And said "Sir, your life will change today"
"Your son will come back to you"
"There are things he'll have to do"
"He can only do so much though"
"The rest is up to you"
"Don't look on him as challenged"
"your son, is still the same"
"he's now....a different kind of normal"
"If you must give it a name"
"A child born with no sight"
"That is normal ....don't you see?"
"What's normal to that child"
"Is just not the same for you and me"
"It's a different kind of normal"
"That's the best thing you can say"
"For a child without eyesight"
"you just find a different way"
"How do you know the feeling"
"Of something you've not had?|
"If you've never caught a football"
"Would missing it be bad?"
"It's just a different kind of normal"
"That's all that I can say"
"I've never run or jumped"
"But, I still learned to play"
This boy, was something special
Someone special, heaven sent
I was learning things for nothing
And to me that's money well spent
"A person adapts to whatever"
"it is they have to change"
"It's just a different kind of normal"
"And it's really not so strange"
"Who says just what is normal?"
"We're all different in some way"
"Whether hindered by our bodies"
"Or by things along the way"
"To label one as special"
"or as challenged, or just ill"
"It limits them forever"
"It equates them down to nil"
"Just think we all are equal"
"We just don't all act the same"
"We're a different kind of normal"
"And to us, it's not a game"
He touched my hand real gently
More like a feather on my skin
He said, "My name is Simon"
"And I'm glad that you came in"
"Just think of what I told you"
"Just take some time, once I am gone"
"We're all a different kind of normal"
"Now you know...so...pass it on."
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 11:27 PM UTC
As everything comes to a close, the end is dawning upon thee
I thought I was prepared with my farewells, apparently not sadly.
recent events made it difficult to say goodbye
to all the things I love no matter how hard I try.
I deemed the thought that I could face this with pride
yet I seem to have so much things to hide.
Perhaps the fear hindered me from saying all that I need to say
to settle unfinished businesses and things left unsaid, array.
I therefore realized that I have a lot of things to express
and I just can't settle with foregoing it all, I can't suppress.
Boldly as it may seem, it easier said than done.
I just can't find the right time to say it, how it should've begun.
My mind consumes me with this unsettling thought
leaving me baffled, confused on what I ought.
it's easier to shun it away, long forgotten,
but escaping doesn't fix anything does it? I guess it shouldn't happen...
Say I were to express these unspoken of truths
that confined me and hindered me to show myself, soothe.
Will the opportunity to speak of be bestowed?
Am I to be strengthened, courage, bravery endowed?
To be granted this desire to behold my insights
is the greatest blessing to be bestowed by the above lights.
Give me the answer I ask of thee!
Should I speak of this or flee?!
I yearn to tell the truth and the whole truth to thee.
for clarity and liberation from this for me...
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
Enraptured by the senses heightened,
Sight stolen by blindfold,
Mobility hindered by bands of silk,
Forced into placidity by restraints.
Blinded abruptly,
Aural faculty's amplified by the loss.
Still, I hear nothing.
Silence so thick it's tangible,
Heavy, weighed down by an anxious nervousness,
Attuned to very vibrations permeating the atmosphere,
Breathing in sync with the pulse of my blood,
Harsh and quick,
Thunderous in the stillness of this contemporary plane.
I'm almost afraid.
Fear exacerbated by acute vulnerability,
Naked to criticism, to contempt, to desecration.
Offered as repast,
Meal to sate invisible mouth,
Chocolate sin to tantalize his tongue,
Displayed and arranged for his feast.
I long to be free.
Wavering between the excitement begotten by thrill,
And a desperate need to escape,
I hang. With nothing to ground me.
Held aloft at another's will.
I long to be free...
Don't I?
Jul 24, 2021
Jul 24, 2021 at 3:06 PM UTC
804
No Notice gave She, but a Change—
No Message, but a Sigh—
For Whom, the Time did not suffice
That She should specify.
She was not warm, though Summer shone
Nor scrupulous of cold
Though Rime by Rime, the steady Frost
Upon Her ***** piled—
Of shrinking ways—she did not fright
Though all the Village looked—
But held Her gravity aloft—
And met the gaze—direct—
And when adjusted like a Seed
In careful fitted Ground
Unto the Everlasting Spring
And hindered but a Mound
Her Warm return, if so she chose—
And We—imploring drew—
Removed our invitation by
As Some She never knew—
2.2k
606
The Trees like Tassels—hit—and swung—
There seemed to rise a Tune
From Miniature Creatures
Accompanying the Sun—
Far Psalteries of Summer—
Enamoring the Ear
They never yet did satisfy—
Remotest—when most fair
The Sun shone whole at intervals—
Then Half—then utter hid—
As if Himself were optional
And had Estates of Cloud
Sufficient to enfold Him
Eternally from view—
Except it were a whim of His
To let the Orchards grow—
A Bird sat careless on the fence—
One gossipped in the Lane
On silver matters charmed a Snake
Just winding round a Stone—
Bright Flowers slit a Calyx
And soared upon a Stem
Like Hindered Flags—Sweet hoisted—
With Spices—in the Hem—
’Twas more—I cannot mention—
How mean—to those that see—
Vandyke’s Delineation
Of Nature’s—Summer Day!
2.2k
Sitting in a moon lit field
In my hands, the future I yield
I've got a personal stationary kit
Cross legged I sit
Swallowing stables to repair my inner self
Am I to be martyred?
Sitting in a moon lit field
In my hands, the future I yield
I've got a personal stationary kit
I'm in a panic, my heart's edging its final fit
Cross legged I sit
With a scissors I cut off my rough edges
Am I to be martyred?
Sitting in a moon lit field
In my hands, the future I yield
I've got a personal stationary kit
In my head I feel this is it
Using a ruler to guide my knife
Blood falls like a liquid hour glass ending my life
I can't be who I have to be
My aspirations far outweigh my ability
My motivation is hindered by my stupidity
I'm sick of the annual near life experience
Depression is the zeitgeist of our generation
Correct me if I'm wrong
Sitting in a moon lit field
In my hands, the future I yield
I've got a personal stationary kit
I try to hot clue my memories
The fondest, I fear, aren't even true
I feel like I'm being eaten alive
I'm a lobster in a *** slowly being boiled
My claws are being torn from me
My very soul being soiled
My heart is still beating
My legs are being ripped from my rife carcass
I cry louder than I ever thought possible
Still breathing I am in gross darkness
My eyes feel like they're going to bleed
My tail is ripped from me
I wish I could plea
But I'm just one
I'm just me
Sitting in a moon lit field
In my hands, the future I yield
I've got a personal stationary kit
But I will share
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC