"karen" poems
Donald Trump what a Chump
The name makes my blood Boil
His views remind me of
Those poor Jews when ******
Caused such Immortal coil
Trump claims to be against
Extremism yet it
Leaks through his core all the
Way to his Brittle bones
Brainwashing vulnerable;
Led to his Blood stained Throne
No blood shed yet; He speaks
Hell don't be so naive
Trump contemplated by
So many minds in this
Day and age shouldn't be
Building walls make them tall
Then what Is this the way?
Segregation, Racism
Shuts his eyes, Cover's ears
He'll not hear what we say
It's Devastating such
Man claims chance to taint our
Minds with his Bitter taste
A Catastrophe,
Shows no Diplomacy
With 'Morals' formed into
Very Strange Scary shapes
Yes, I agree Something
Needs to change but Believe
Me 'Trump' is not that Thing
Sheds empty promises
Causing controversy
With 'Peace' as the end goal
Trumps No way to begin
His Immaturity
Is so apparent that
He will ruin the world
As we know it today
I think Trump needs some help
Some Mental help to drive
All those Devils living
Within him Far away!
© Karen L Hamilton, January 2016
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 8:20 PM UTC
And that night I was a mechanical doll
and I turned right and left, to all sides
and I fell on my face and broke to bits,
and they tried to put me together with skillful hands
And then I went back to being a correct doll
and all my manners were studied and compliant.
But by then I was a different kind of doll
like a wounded twig hanging by a tendril.
And then I went to dance at a ball,
but they left me in the company of cats and dogs
even though all my steps were measured and patterned.
And I had golden hair and I had blue eyes
and I had a dress the color of the flowers in the garden
and I had a straw hat decorated with a cherry.
Translated from the original Hebrew by Karen Alkalay-Gut.
14.2k
On the sewage puddles of Sabra and Shatila
there you transferred masses of human beings
worthy of respect
from the world of the living to the world of the dead.
Night after night.
First they shot
then they hung
and finally slaughtered with knives.
Terrified women rushed up
from over the dust hills:
"There they slaughter us
in Shatila."
A narrow tail of the new moon hung
above the camps.
Our soldiers illuminated the place with flares
like daylight.
"Back to the camps, March!" the soldier commanded
the screaming women of Sabra and Shatila.
He had orders to follow,
And the children were already laid in the puddles of waste,
their mouths open,
at rest.
No one will harm them.
A baby can't be killed twice.
And the tail of the moon filled out
until it turned into a loaf of whole gold.
Our dear sweet soldiers,
asked nothing for themselves—
how strong was their hunger
to return home in peace.
Translated from the original Hebrew by Karen Alkalay-Gut.
12.2k
Tera meri iss ujadi zindagi main aana,
Kaash koi shabd bayaan kar paate.
Par kya Karen zindagi ka hai yeh dastoor..
Ki hum jisko sabse zyada chahte ,
Ussiko nahi bata paate.
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 12:04 PM UTC
When the fire grabbed his body, it didn't happen by degrees.
There was no burst of heat before,
or giant wave of smothering smoke
and the feeling of a spare room one wants to escape to.
The fire held him at once
—there are no metaphors for this—
it peeled off his clothes
cleaved to his flesh.
The skin nerves were the first to be touched.
The hair was consumed.
"God! They are burning!" he shouted.
And that is all he could do in self-defense.
The flesh was already burning between the shack's boards
that fed the fire in the first stage.
There was already no consciousness in him.
The fire burning his flesh
numbed his sense of future
and the memories of his family
and he had no more ties to his childhood
and he didn't ask for revenge, salvation,
or to see the dawn of the next day.
He just wanted to stop burning.
But his body supported the conflagration
and he was as if bound and fettered,
and of that too he did not think.
And he continued to burn by the power of his body
made of hair and wax and tendons.
And he burned a long time.
And from his throat inhuman voices issued
for many of his human functions had already ceased,
except for the pain the nerves transmitted
in electric impulses
to the pain center in the brain,
and that didn't last longer than a day.
And it was good that his soul was freed that day
because he deserved to rest.
Translated from the original Hebrew by Karen Alkalay-Gut.
8.7k
natural glow: white people
on snapchat stories. stop
using flash. stop oppressing
everyone. i'm looking
at you, karen.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
Take the knapsacks
and the utensils and washtubs
and the books of the Koran
and the army fatigues
and the tall tales and the torn soul
and whatever's left, bread or meat,
and kids running around like chickens in the village.
How many children do you have?
How many children did you have?
It's hard to keep tabs on kids in a situation like this.
Not like in the old country
in the shade of the mosque and the fig tree,
when the children the children would be shooed outside by day
and put to bed at night.
Put whatever isn't fragile into sacks,
clothes and blankets and bedding and diapers
and something for a souvenir
like a shiny artillery shell perhaps,
or some kind of useful tool,
and the babies with rheumy eyes
and the R.P.G. kids.
We want to see you in the water, sailing aimlessly
with no harbor and no shore.
You won't be accepted anywhere
You are banished human beings.
You are people who don't count
You are people who aren't needed
You are a pinch of lice
stinging and itching
to madness.
Translated from the original Hebrew by Karen Alkalay-Gut.
6.8k
Bonds were formed within each heart
Made silent vows to never part,
Where ever on this earth we go
Within ourselves we'll always know
That friendship is a timeless thing,
It travels far and deep within
When distance grows of course we're sad
We can't reach out and hold your hand,
For what we share is far more deep
We'll meet again within our sleep.
You see, when bonds like ours were formed
The strongest friendship was then born,
The focal point we know we share
That's way up high and always there,
To guide us and to comfort through
The tougher times - our precious moon.
Just look at it and you might see
Your witches flying high and free...
No distance, time or age will stop
Our love for you, not on our watch.
© Karen L Hamilton, 2014
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 4:29 PM UTC
**** men, guys, dudes, boys... in fact anything that walks on two legs and has a ***** between those two legs, or any other kind of elongated genitalia for that matter.
**** the simple ones who guzzle beer and scream at other men in a small box
**** the sensitive ones who weep at the intensity of their emotions to you
**** that cool ones who speak in a language of esoteric band and brand names
**** the intellectual ones who have their opinions shoved so far up their **** it bleeds out their mouth
**** the business types who's cool indifference is callous
**** the health-conscious gym-working-out ones who's 9pm bed time leaves you star gazing alone
**** the hippy ones who's lofty, hot air talk leaves you with a nasty feeling in your nose like you need to sneeze but it is stuck inside
**** the ones who are "different" but an trip on the bus is more entertaining than their recycled conversation
Last of all **** the decent, hard working, ones who have girlfriends that are non-flaky, pulled-together, skinny-organic-soy-latte-drinkers, only-wear-Karen-Walker, I-have-no-daddy-issues, law-majors
**** it all really
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 5:29 PM UTC
- by Ashley Capps
Ophelia, when she died,
lay in the water like the river’s bride, all pale
and stark and beautiful against the somber rocks,
her hair an endless golden ceremony.
She made the water sing for her; it flowed
over her folded arms.
Not so my father’s sister Karen,
swollen in a day-old tub of water
when they found her,
needle tucked into the fold of her arm,
her last thing: a wing.
So everything went as nameless as the men
who lifted her naked from the tub,
or those who rolled her
into the mouth of the furnace,
which is what you get
when you don’t get a service,
when your mother’s years of grief turn
last to rage: I won’t pay for it.
Leave me out of it.
And even though they finally said
it wasn’t suicide; a mistake—
no one knew what to do
with all of that anger,
or in the end how not to blame her.
Even now, in her unmarked container.
*
People once believed a deeper reason, some dark secret
motivation to the way the lemmings threw themselves
en masse into the sea. Were they weary
of their lives; could they, too, despair?
Or like those second-vessel swine
when Jesus exorcised two babbling men of their demons,
driving the demons through a pack of bewildered hogs—
the way they plunged?
The truth we know now: they leave when food is scarce,
when they’ve grown too many;
believe the roads they follow
lead to new meadows, a place to start over.
I think of Karen, feeding
and feeding her veins, how it is possible
she saw us all suddenly there—miraculous
and festive on some bright and other shore,
like the life she had been swimming toward
all along, trying to get right.
Like those sailors long ago,
that tropical disease, calenture—
when, far from everything they knew,
men grew sometimes delirious
and mistook the waving sea for green fields.
Rejoicing, they leapt overboard,
and so were lost forever,
even though they thought it was real, though
they thought they were going home.
—by Ashley Capps
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 11:49 PM UTC
Raat meh jab aankh lage
Dil ka raang kaala
Khaboon mein tum aake
Apna ehsaas dilake
Hoonton ki pyaas bhujake
Ek lafs bole...."Kyun?"
Ab iis ek shabd ka jhawab nahi
Iis dil ki pyaas ka matlab nahi
Do jismoon ki batoon ki samaj nahi
Tho kab hum bas karen?
Kab iis kyun ko dafnaden?
Kab iss sawal ka jawab nah dhoonden?
Kab samje ke hum "hum" nahi ** sakthe?
s.q.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
I do love my little egg cup,
His brother much the same,
He holds my egg so perfectly;
Boiled eggs are not a game.
They bounce about for 4 minutes
Before they take their test,
They need a place to hold them straight;
My egg cups are the best.
When the soldiers are awaiting,
Those buttered friends of mine,
I need my little egg cups
To keep them all in line.
They come with little cosy hats
To hide their eggy heads,
I take it off and just like that;
Prepare for eggy bread!
© Karen L Hamilton, 2013
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 6:26 PM UTC
What do you think of the ****** of the Prime Minister?
Yes, what do you think of the ******
of the Prime Minister?
And what do you feel?
Are you in shock
or depressed?
A question was asked.
And do you stutter
or are you unsure of what will happen,
or do you speak with such bewilderment
because of the future or the present—
A question was asked.
And perhaps you feel stupid
or without a point of view?
Answer.
And I reply:
All that you say is right
and you are a dear person.
And I want to add one more thing:
The Prime minister died a happy man.
Peace to the dust of the Prime Minister
Husband and father and something more:
the son of Red Rosa.
Translated from the original Hebrew by Karen Alkalay-Gut.
4.2k
Your body, your mind, heart and soul,
All combined, set a goal
To start today; no better time
If you really want this
You need to strive. Work for your goals,
Work as hard as you can
Staying focused, you need a plan
You're pushed to your limits;
That's what you think. You can reach it,
You just need to believe.
Believe in yourself, have some faith,
I know it's not easy
Make no mistake, comes from within
This new strength you shall find,
Conquer your goals, body and mind.
© Karen L Hamilton, 2013
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 7:43 AM UTC
Names are funny.
Have you ever wondered what your name would be if your parents didn't name you?
I'm one of the lucky few
that know.
If my parents didn't name me,
my name would be
Timothy.
You see, apparently,
when two people love each other,
Mommy cheats on Donny
with daddy and all three
demonize the baby.
Unfortunately,
abortion isn't an option.
Poor Donny believes
his little Johnson
made a tiny Willie
but really
it's Mike's Rick.
The trick wasn't revealed
until
Donny signed the birth certificate.
Obviously, Karen's husband abandoned their family.
Mike ripped his love from her and gave it to Dominique.
Karen,
twice-scorned,
mid-divorce,
postpartum,
decides a shelter isn't suitable for a nameless infant.
At this point, it's a little too late for abortion.
Nowhere to go,
knowing she can't stay,
Adoption became the practical option.
The noxious auction caused a nauseous reaction to her conscious. Karen picked the option, least pompus, with the most promise. An intuitively honest Christian was brought to her room so she could sign the synopsis.
As she's reviewing the terms of this blood oath, she glances at both of the parents cradling her second baby boy. They turn and ask
"What is his name?"
"I don't know. I thought he was going to be a she so I had the name Sade."
"That's ok, we have a perfect name in mind. Timothy."
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 5:26 PM UTC
Fire Walker
Angel Talker
Tree Hugger
Technicolor Dreamer
Imagination Jumper
Long time Barber
Recent Photographer
Twisted Big Sister
Missus of the Mister
Wicked Stepmother
to Some
Auntie of Others
Armchair philosopher
Always a Poet
and my Friends
mostly think
a Know- It-All
but in a nice way:)
Karen Newell
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
Dear Karen,
It is seven years this month when you left us.
I miss you everyday. In the car, seeing the passenger seat empty, but can still hear you telling me to slow down. When I see Russ and Mea, I smile, knowing that our grandchildren, Evan and Emily, would not be here if not for you.
Not long ago, at one of Evan's hockey games, I turned to Mea and said, "I hope Karen is watching this", for Evan(goalie) was playing exceptionally well. Mea put her hand on my shoulder, "she probably has a better seat than we do." I don't doubt that at all. The same goes for Emily and her activities, whether it be soccer, basketball, softball, or who knows what else, I know that you keep that protective blanket around both of them. Yes, there will be scrapes, scratches, bumps, and bruises. perhaps a broken bone. But when the game calls for a "clutch" player, is when the power of the angel, you, leaves the bench, strengthening the confidence of all the players, not just one, or two, but all. Like all things mortal, sometimes they win, sometimes they lose. But most of all, they learn. A most important result.
Love you, and miss you!
Richard
copyright: richardriddle 01-07-2015
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 10:04 AM UTC
it became a perpetual motion
a dance
someone hands the card, another lights
the amount of aching discolored grazed fingers was immense
put your finger on the flint wheel
press it down
karen thought we should make a sign
the scrambles of bruised fingers for a piece of cardboard
my fingers throbbed as i scratched our message on the board
i kept the pink flower locked in the crease of my hand
and threw them in air
“draft card burning here”
it was 7 00 in the morning
october 21 1967
i was only 17
my brother jeffrey was flying a plane over dien bien phu
a friend richard was screaming in the trenches of xuan loc
a lover michael treading through a swamp in mui bai ****
i stepped up to The Police.
The. Men. In. Suits. Stared. At. Me
Blank. Faces. And. No. Expression.
I picked up my Pink Daisy, and brought it up to their bayonets
this is for Jeffrey, for Richard, and for Michael
the men in suits stared at me
in a world of chaos and confusion
all I heard was
Silence.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 2:09 PM UTC
My sister karen was a manhater
she hated all men
deliriously
she would sit on the top
of the bunkbed she shared with sue
and with one finger curl her hair
then pull it out by the roots
it was quite disturbing
she would spend hours
every saturday doing this
until she had almost no hair left
the family worried for her
During the week when I would
come home from school (I think
I was around 7 or 8) karen (being
older and bigger) would run up to me
kick me in the gut
push me to the floor
jump on top of me
grab me by the ears
and pound my head
on the floor until
my brains fell out
this went on for several weeks
until I told my parents and
they finally put an end to it
One night sue didn't want to get caught
eating an apple in bed
so she put the core in the toilet
and it clogged it
we (all four of us)
were awakened in the middle of the night
and had to line up so my mother
could beat us with a belt
until someone confessed
I was tired so I said okay
I did it
I got a good belting that night
I was suspended from school
for a week because the teacher
complained that the welts on my back
were bleeding so profusely that
lt was interrupting the learning process
of the other children
One day I was coming home from school
and I got caught in a hailstorm
I got pelted really good
Lucky for me Mr. Doty was home for lunch
so I took cover under
his light blue ford f-series pick-up truck
hail as big as golf *****
some the size of baseballs
continued to rain down
I don't know for how long
because I fell asleep
"What were you doing under there?"
he questioned as he was shaking my arm
awakening me
(I quess he thought I was messing around
or something)
I came to and stated
"THE GOLF ***** WERE FALLING
I NEEDED A PLACE TO HIDE"
"oh" he said
"you mean to tell me you were in THAT?"
"yessir" I replied
"well, your schoolday's almost over,
maybe you should go home and rest"
"yessir"
And I went home and rested
When karen turned eighteen
she married a wife beater
for nearly ten years he would
ugly 'er up
finally she couldn't take anymore
and divorced him
But she was only following tradition
my grandpa beat his wife
my father beat his wife
and al beat karen
Yep, those three knew
how to really take a beating
But, not from a hailstorm
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC
My partner has a crush on Karen Black
He watches every movie and repeat
Anyone would wonder what they lack
As actors go, she surely is a hack
but “A Trilogy of Terror” is his treat
My partner has a crush on Karen Black
It’s not as if she has a fulsome rack
But something stirs his blood to boiling heat
Anyone would wonder what they lack
I dream of Idris Elba in the sack
Sheer perfection wrapped naked in a sheet
But my man has his crush on Karen Black
Her voice so harsh the underground would frack
Split layers of the earth beneath our feet
Her smiling face would every mirror crack
Despite all this, she seems to have the knack
To entice and tease every man to cheat
My partner has a crush on Karen Black
It makes me wonder what it is I lack.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 6:04 AM UTC
I don't dream of you either. Not at night. The occasional daydream occurs. You crawl into my mind in sentimental coffee shop conversations we never shared, love made in hotels we never went to, picking up naked dolls with frayed blonde hair that the daughter we'll never have left out. Sometimes it's lovely not to question the reality.
Usually the night drives keep me in Oklahoma. I don't know how many times I've stopped in Kingfisher to look at that terrible statue of Sam Walton. But he reminds me that no matter how successful a man becomes, in the end his legacy is depicted by his leftovers. There's a sadness in that. But also a freedom.
Wednesday's drive took me to Ulysses, Kansas. Light pollution gave up just outside of Woodward. Guiding me like a weary wise man who forgot his frankincense, stars beamed and made for suitable company. I love passing through small towns at night. I become a ghost. I'm above them. I'm not exactly there. Brief haunt. Then on my way again.
I parked about 100 feet from my grandmother's old house. Judging by the minivan, some young family's new house. They were in the process of adding to the east side. I wanted to tear at every fresh board. Instead I picked up a couple pieces of my grandmother's gravel. Put them in my pocket. Touched her old mailbox, and drove to the cemetery.
When I got to the headstone, which read Merle and Virgil Mawhirter, I thought back to the last thing my grandmother said to Karen and myself. We visited her in the hospital right before she found herself in the pangs of a ventilator and scattershot science. It was her birthday. I bought her a book she never read.
As Karen and I left, she stopped us. "Don't forget to bring me some ice cream. Good to see you, Floyd and Margie." Not sure who they were. Ice cream. Even at the end, she laughed in the face of diabetes.
Do you think Tim will be the name beside yours on your headstone?
I lied down by my grandparents' graves. Dim moonlight seeped through small breaks in the amethyst clouds. Dead leaves feathered to the ground beside me. I wanted to say some words of encouragement to her. For her, but mostly for myself.
All I said though -- My name is Joshua, Grandma.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 12:38 PM UTC
My wife, Karen, was an excellent cook.....
learned from her mother...
Who learned from her mother
My sister-in-law, Marcia, magnificent....
learned from her mother....
Who learned from her mother
My mother, Grace, exceptional...
especially, when it came to "pies."
Learned from her mother....
who learned from her mother....
Well, they had to learn the art from somewhere!
"Magicians in their kitchens", my father-in-law, Larry, often said, when Karen's mother started preparing a festive meal, especially for a holiday such as Christmas or New Year's. (She could prepare a Crown Roast so tender it could be cut with the blade of a toy rubber knife). All three had a common denominator that was learned from their mothers, our "Grandmothers." Very seldom did either of them use a measuring cup, or spoon.
A 'pinch' of this, a 'dash' of that! If the recipe called for a cup of milk, Karen's mother would tip that bottle of milk over the *** count to "two", utter "that's about enough." If a recipe called for a cup of flour, my mother would extend her hand over the bowl, pour the flour into her hand, "that's about right," she'd say. The best apple, or peach pie, you ever tasted. "There's something missing", was Marcia's favorite statement, then reach into the pantry for "whatever."
Passed down from grandmothers, to mothers, to daughters, and to sons as well, we all knew that when we sat down at the table, for however long it would be, we would be in heaven. All because of........
"GRANDMOTHERS!"
.
.
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 3:11 PM UTC
for the karens of the street.
The karens of the world,
you ruin out the people's peace.
Your hair is frizzled like a you got electrocuted,
your feet smell like vinegar and your *** hole smells like ****
but wait, not the one at the bottom, yet the one at the top right in front of your lips, that's right it's your mouth and all i ever see from it is the garbage that comes out.
So please kindly would you do,
shut your ******* trap,
everyone will be happier when you're out
with a clap!
Hurray, hurray,
the karens are out,
But wait, here they are coming back again,
to see what's in store for them once more.
Pitches and forks and all things that stork the time between
a karen and the normal people who just want to live free.
**** you, **** you
Aug 21, 2021
Aug 21, 2021 at 9:50 PM UTC