"optician" poems - Hello Poetry

My eyes represent my attitude, How I see things is how I act accordingly, If my vision isn't clear enough,I need strong lenses, Same applies to my attitude,I need to see things clearly to get the right view and results, If my attitude is bad,everything in my life will be blurry;unclear, And I'll need an optician,in this case God, To fix it, But the choice of making it better still remains with me, In life everything we do results from our attitudes, Our view of life and what we use to view it,either positivity or negativity.

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Jul 24, 2015

Jul 24, 2015 at 12:03 PM UTC

tapiwa

Attitude is like the eyes.

My eyes represent my attitude, How I see things is how I act accordingly, If my vision isn't clear enough,I need strong lenses, Same applies to my attitude,I need to see things clearly to get the right view and results, If my attitude is bad,everything in my life will be blurry;unclear, And I'll need an optician,in this case God, To fix it, But the choice of making it better still remains with me, In life everything we do results from our attitudes, Our view of life and what we use to view it,either positivity or negativity.

10

first, you will try to recollect the way i smile the lines that my eyes make and the light that shines through them the way i squint when i try to read letters that are far too small the different wavelengths of laughter the sneaky one when the politician i voted for won against yours the sarcastic one when i insult your favorite football team then you will try to remember the way i ate the mess i made when i tried to gather rice in my hands the smile when all of you were not too happy about the mess then you will remember when i stopped using my walking stick and when it hurt to walk then you will realize you can't remember if my favorite sarong is checkered or plain if it was indigo or brown was it silk, was it cotton? then you will realize that the newspaper company you still subscribe to, in memory of me - has shut down then you will realize my favorite tv show has aired its season finale, and they're not available online then you will realize my optician no longer makes lenses to the glasses i used to wear then you will realize the wooden chair i used to live in has shattered that is when, you will take a step back and i will be nothing but a faded memory

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Oct 18, 2017

Oct 18, 2017 at 8:11 AM UTC

ln

this is how you will forget me

first, you will try to recollect the way i smile the lines that my eyes make and the light that shines through them the way i squint when i try to read letters that are far too small the different wavelengths of laughter the sneaky one when the politician i voted for won against yours the sarcastic one when i insult your favorite football team then you will try to remember the way i ate the mess i made when i tried to gather rice in my hands the smile when all of you were not too happy about the mess then you will remember when i stopped using my walking stick and when it hurt to walk then you will realize you can't remember if my favorite sarong is checkered or plain if it was indigo or brown was it silk, was it cotton? then you will realize that the newspaper company you still subscribe to, in memory of me - has shut down then you will realize my favorite tv show has aired its season finale, and they're not available online then you will realize my optician no longer makes lenses to the glasses i used to wear then you will realize the wooden chair i used to live in has shattered that is when, you will take a step back and i will be nothing but a faded memory

28

For the young who want to Talent is what they say you have after the novel is published and favorably reviewed. Beforehand what you have is a tedious delusion, a hobby like knitting. Work is what you have done after the play is produced and the audience claps. Before that friends keep asking when you are planning to go out and get a job. Genius is what they know you had after the third volume of remarkable poems. Earlier they accuse you of withdrawing, ask why you don't have a baby, call you a *** The reason people want M.F.A.'s, take workshops with fancy names when all you can really learn is a few techniques, typing instructions and some- body else's mannerisms is that every artist lacks a license to hang on the wall like your optician, your vet proving you may be a clumsy sadist whose fillings fall into the stew but you're certified a dentist. The real writer is one who really writes. Talent is an invention like phlogiston after the fact of fire. Work is its own cure. You have to like it better than being loved. Marge Piercy

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Jun 15, 2014

Jun 15, 2014 at 11:57 PM UTC

emayne

For the young who want to by Marge Piercy

For the young who want to Talent is what they say you have after the novel is published and favorably reviewed. Beforehand what you have is a tedious delusion, a hobby like knitting. Work is what you have done after the play is produced and the audience claps. Before that friends keep asking when you are planning to go out and get a job. Genius is what they know you had after the third volume of remarkable poems. Earlier they accuse you of withdrawing, ask why you don't have a baby, call you a *** The reason people want M.F.A.'s, take workshops with fancy names when all you can really learn is a few techniques, typing instructions and some- body else's mannerisms is that every artist lacks a license to hang on the wall like your optician, your vet proving you may be a clumsy sadist whose fillings fall into the stew but you're certified a dentist. The real writer is one who really writes. Talent is an invention like phlogiston after the fact of fire. Work is its own cure. You have to like it better than being loved. Marge Piercy

38

There was almost a fight once. I say almost, because it was. I saw it with my own eyes, in the bus station that isn’t there anymore because they blew it up and everyone cheered. I don’t remember it much because this is years ago and I hadn’t finished university yet but I was standing in line, as you do, avoiding eye contact, like the cucumber sandwiched between a grey old lady and a pregnant girl on her phone, waiting for the X4 or whatever it was called. I was eating something and then the black man stood up, not too far away, went up to the elderly man, told him to move, got in his face like an optician inspecting your eyes except with more venom. You could see it in the way he moved. I don’t know what words were spilt. I didn’t hear. I said I only saw it. Then he, the black man that is, kicked the other man in the shin with the tip of his boot. I just stood and watched like everybody else because it’s an unexpected moment in an unexceptional place as a brief scuffle began, a thrashing of arms, a spell of aggression. It ended. The old man sat down again, rubbing his leg as strangers spoke. The black man looked riled. Cops came out of nowhere as if they magically transported to a bus depot by mistake. I don’t know what happened next because I got my ride home and got on with my life, but I like to think they nicked him for causing a minor ruckus. But they probably didn’t. The buses don’t go there anymore because they exploded the station. I might’ve said that earlier.

0

Sep 17, 2016

Sep 17, 2016 at 12:32 PM UTC

reece-aj-chambers

Greyfriars

There was almost a fight once. I say almost, because it was. I saw it with my own eyes, in the bus station that isn’t there anymore because they blew it up and everyone cheered. I don’t remember it much because this is years ago and I hadn’t finished university yet but I was standing in line, as you do, avoiding eye contact, like the cucumber sandwiched between a grey old lady and a pregnant girl on her phone, waiting for the X4 or whatever it was called. I was eating something and then the black man stood up, not too far away, went up to the elderly man, told him to move, got in his face like an optician inspecting your eyes except with more venom. You could see it in the way he moved. I don’t know what words were spilt. I didn’t hear. I said I only saw it. Then he, the black man that is, kicked the other man in the shin with the tip of his boot. I just stood and watched like everybody else because it’s an unexpected moment in an unexceptional place as a brief scuffle began, a thrashing of arms, a spell of aggression. It ended. The old man sat down again, rubbing his leg as strangers spoke. The black man looked riled. Cops came out of nowhere as if they magically transported to a bus depot by mistake. I don’t know what happened next because I got my ride home and got on with my life, but I like to think they nicked him for causing a minor ruckus. But they probably didn’t. The buses don’t go there anymore because they exploded the station. I might’ve said that earlier.

52

You Can ****** & Rob People All ******* Day, Its Okay They're Called Politicians. Keep Chugging **** You Won't See & Its Good 'Cause You Can't Afford An Optician. When You Get Low We'll Kick You In The Bones, I'm Sorry We Deported Your Physician. They Hope You Get Sick & They'll Hit You With A Brick, But They Call That Universal Credit. -When Their Caught Out Trust The BBC To (.) Off With Their Heads & Dead It. We Have Ears & Memory Too We Really Know You Said It, Snakes Caught In Skins You Belong In The Bin, No More Mice Cause I Already Fed It.

0

Jul 11, 2018

Jul 11, 2018 at 10:25 PM UTC

harry-robertsag

Politicians

You Can ****** & Rob People All ******* Day, Its Okay They're Called Politicians. Keep Chugging **** You Won't See & Its Good 'Cause You Can't Afford An Optician. When You Get Low We'll Kick You In The Bones, I'm Sorry We Deported Your Physician. They Hope You Get Sick & They'll Hit You With A Brick, But They Call That Universal Credit. -When Their Caught Out Trust The BBC To (.) Off With Their Heads & Dead It. We Have Ears & Memory Too We Really Know You Said It, Snakes Caught In Skins You Belong In The Bin, No More Mice Cause I Already Fed It.

6