"parented" poems
Darling, there are few facts that you
must know as a student of science,
And there are many more that you
must know as a cute human being.
There are three bearing mango trees
& one guava tree outside our home,
The guava tree is infested with the
parasitic growth of a sacred fig tree.
After many years' from today
the "Bargad" tree will grow out,
Ousting the guava tree it will finally
be free but it won't forget guava tree.
It will always feel having been parented by the guava tree, and so it might actually become a hybrid of both the trees and so a love child hybrid tree would ultimately give shade and fruits to people in the future generation.
So should the ideal love of a human being be inspired towards everyone including the ones who they love and fellow human beings - selfless and pure.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 1:09 AM UTC
As I closed my door and lay down to sleep
A poem came and violently knocked at my door
Being late, I put a rein on my desire to admit it in
In my sleep I could hear the faint sound of a knock
In the wee hours of the morn, as I sat up to house it
scattered phrases and broken lines floated around
A crazy excitement made me trap them in ink
But nothing worthwhile showed up on the writing pad
I found I had only violated the virginity of the paper
After hours of spasmodic labor pain
What came out was a stillborn with no heart beats
It lay limp before me and all excitement died down
It’s still body, I found had closely resembled me
Something of me was there stamped on it
How could I who had parented it
Callously discard it in a dustbin?
So I carefully stashed it away in a secret place
Where no one’s prying eyes would ever fall over it!
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 8:25 AM UTC
A ton of poems,
all feather weight,
your breath upon them
to release, up-float them,
they all patiently await.
A glance,
a catch in the throat,
the noises of you ,
rumbles from the kitchen,
dishwasher unloading,
creating a racket,
creating a new poem,
for in the sounds of
disbursement of the dishes,
this poem doth originate.
A ton of poems,
like the white blanket
in my bubble bath,
a puff, a finger kick
and up they go,
a feather trigger,
and a new one-ton,
free and gone,
a poem free, newly born,
from my surroundings parented,
and given up to you,
a foster child, to keep, raise
and hold close.
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
Apathy is a killer of children;
Oh great poisonous snake
Don’t you have any compassion?
Apathy is a killer of children;
Anna, Steve, Sebastian,
Will you make it to the kingdom?
Selfish preservation persists
From the inside of each one of your lips
But was it the times that did this?
Or was it the trauma of your siblings both getting arrested
And when your dad started calling your mom a *****
Or was it the fact that your dad runs the strip club off Kirk
And you spend your days there watching women strip?
Or was it the fact that your older brother dealt drugs
And it was easy enough to get him to give you some,
And now it’s common practice to smoke **** at your house,
And when you feel numb you let yourself bleed out?
Or was that your parents never parented you
And they let you do whatever you wanted to do,
So at eight R-rated movies were nothing that new
And you watched ****** and ****** like daily cartoons.
And where were your parents when this happened to your hearts?
Oh right, they were screaming and yelling till you fell apart
And then doing the same things that they bruised you for
And then eventually not caring if you did them some more!
Was it your parents?
Was it their parents?
Was it this cycle?
Who can bear it?
Who can we blame?
Who will make the claim?
Who can you place all our burdens on and then walk away?
I can’t bear the weight
I can’t bear the weight
I can’t bear the weight
I can’t bear the weight
We can’t bear the weight
We can’t bear the weight
We can’t bear the weight
We can’t bear the weight!
And who’s going to stop and care about Sophie,
Not unstable enough to try to **** herself
But she’s feeling confused and she’s feeling lowly
And she hopes she can have better mental health,
But the hospital will only make sure she’s calmed down
And her mom and her grandma won’t help her figure it out
And she’s been hurt from therapy and is afraid to go back
To a stranger who’s just there for a paycheck and that’s that!
Who’s hands will stay and hold all her blood
When it trickles down her arms from all her poorly hidden cuts!
Who has her blood on her hands, who is to blame
When her mom kicks down the door and screams her name:
“Sophie I’m sorry!”
Name the killer of children,
Can you name the killer of children?
Is there anyone specific
Who taught them to do this?
Name the killer of children.
Can you name the killer of children?
Was it their parents?
Was it this cycle?
Was it this world?
Was it their idols?
Name the killer of children.
Can you name the killer of children?
If anyone causes these little ones to stumble
Let them be tied to a millstone, drowning deep in open waters!
Can you name the killer of children?
Or do you have at least a spot to bury them in?
Dec 6, 2024
Dec 6, 2024 at 7:33 PM UTC
I don't like deleting certain emails
for the simplest of comforts
seeing the sender's name provides,
they are...
a hot tea on a "still sick"sick day,
an unexpected "how are you" inquiry,
or a late summer blossom,
a lavender Rose of Sharon,
shockingly discovered through a
country kitchen window on an early fall day,
or a poem born effortlessly,
it's existence unbeknownst to its creator,
just minutes earlier, unaware of its arrival,
just like this one...
or not deleting a newly gifted photo,
uncovered while closing one's eyes
past the midnight hour when
the old day hands off to the newly born incoming,
sending yourself off to bed
with a smiling chuckle;
of a young child's first day of school photo,
her plaid skirt and black patents,
a cherry-topping smile radiating hints
of both a pleasured future, a happy home,
and a growing-up maturity earned
from a third summer marked upon this planet...
so I keep that email and that photo
handy-filed so they are stored,
fresh faced in my inbox or screen,
a friend's name, now a symbol of caring,
a child's photo, emblem of a kind of love,
that parented this poem, so that happily both *****
the armor of the commonplace
of both the everyday,
and the unforgettable world weariness
of having been there years before when,
when the mind sudden recognizes the new day's
sad refrain, sadder name and its most
saddest anniversary and these
disparate comforts,
both say, rest easy friend,
and now off to sleep...
2:31 am
Sept. 11, 2014
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 2:59 AM UTC
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Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 4:17 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
From Princess Esther Fatouma,
The future queen of lies and deception
Dear ALLAH Elect, the most high,
Who blessed me with the powers to cheat
My luciferous pleasure to have contact with you,
Based on the pathetic and critical condition I find mine self,
Though, it's not financial problem,
But my health you might have known
That cancer is not what to talk home about,
Though I don't know you, but your are my sweet victim
And my contact with you was not by mistake,
But by the divine favour of ALLAH the maker of I the prankster
I am married to Mr. Mohamed Sule, I love him dearly,
My husband worked with Tunisia embassy in Burkina Faso
For nine years before he died in the year 2008.
We were married for eleven years without a child.
He died after a brief illness that lasted for five days.
Since his death I decided not to remarry,
When my late husband was alive
he deposited the sum of US$ 2.2m, waaa!
Two million two hundred thousand dollars,
in a bank in Ouagadougou the capital city of Burkina Faso
It is a wonder why all this sonnetic fortune,
In west Africa Presently this money is still in bank.
He made this money available, minus chains
for exportation of Gold from Burkina Faso mining.
Recently, My Doctor told me some thing new;
I am yet to visit the land of my ancestors, my husband
That I don't have much time to live because of the cancer problem,
Having known my condition,
I decided to hand you over this money
To take care of the less-privileged people,
You will utilize this money the way I am going to instruct herein
I want you to take thirty Percent of the total money for your personal use
While seventy percent of the money will go to charity
Helping the orphanage and all those that are homeless,
And I pray that you are foolish enough to provide your bank details
You would have converted yourself in to over parented orphanage.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 7:43 AM UTC
Once a year, I'm reminded here
on father's day, I have no father near.
My father could not be farther.
Actually, that's not true.
He's in one of the Southern counties of England
but it's distant enough to do.
He has two sons that he chose to have
and raise and support and endow
with all those cultural allegiance mechanisms
that I try to imagine somehow.
Painted their rooms,
changed their sheets
throwing a ball and stuff,
giving them a father that they can observe
doing his worst, best or enough.
I'm a secret secreting jealousy as a crime superfluous to needs
watching all you parented people
making pronouncements on your old Dad's deeds.
Bitter, sour grapes and cynicism are the silent names that come,
"Don't utter or mutter a single word of distain
keep our game a zero sum.
It's not our fault you had no dad
there's no need to rain on our parade!"
I know this poem is digging a hole
but who got you your first *****
Which, I guess gives me license to continue
to go on about the other problems that came
When I was a kid, they talked of a god
and "Father" was his name.
As if it wasn't challenging enough
there's a celestial, all-seeing eye.
I found daily life to be complex as it was
without attempting to anthropomorphize the sky.
Intimidated, un-encouraged without a male adult to hide behind,
I learned I was a ******* without belonging
while mother ******* raised their own kind.
But, I guess it's time to turn around
face the future face-on with the rest
I've two sons now, who know that they are wanted
Glad I typed this crap off my chest.
Sorry if I offended anyone with a dad
Just wanted to put words to my own case,
it was not written with any malice in mind
just like your annual slap round my face.
...
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 3:42 AM UTC
A bag of melancholy emotions collect
within empty features, secluded & vacant.
No tears ever weaken this collection
of barren reflections.
Only whispers escape, soundless gestures.
It collects from distressed abrasions,
to smear upon its outer visage.
Always motionless it wonders the
surroundings to celebrate the humour
of its desolate existence.
A child wonders closely, asking if
this creation of lost collections is in
need of chloroform smiles.
it looks and hands a rose,
its leafs embers of its mourning.
Smiling, this miniature silhouette,
slashes out at the one who parented it.
Cleaving what was smiles,
now carved features smear a face of
sullen smiles, as like the petals falling lifeless.
Tears flow like rivers, the contortion of
happiness fades when the last petal erodes
a motion under hidden gestures facilitate
this happiness to see such butchery of innocence.
But it is short lived like always, paper frowns collect.
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 3:51 PM UTC
Unknown and foreign to light
Feeling the emptiness hence cry.
1 and 11 months dad left,
Guileless kid that I was
Didn't care.
Grandma's place during the weekdays
With Kor as my playmate.
You'd think we were inseparable
But we grew up.
Doted on due to pity
Doesn't quite last.
When you're a annoying seven year old,
Single parented or not, who cares?
No one to turn to,
Seeing mum only morning and night.
Keeping it all to myself,
That's how I grew up.
Nine year old was hell
Crying to sleep silently,
Worrying about how to act,
A smile to cover it up.
No one cared enough to ask.
Time flew and at 15
We finally moved "home".
Little space I once possessed
Grew to naught.
The first slash, the first purge.
No one knows.
The first attempt, the consequent ones
No one cares.
Nothing was ever easy.
At 16 and 4 months I look back
Thinking how the hell I survived it all
Thinking how the hell am I going to move on.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 12:37 PM UTC
most oft, the
wherever I write,
is duly noted,
it is a due,
due you,
and hopefully,
the why I scribe,
arrives ‘pon your eyes
with Steuben glass,
of diamond tooled curettage,
a clarifying visual of
beauty,
but always
with fair detailed precision
is the
when
denoted,
for it is the timing
of the mining the specificity,
of the exact momentous,
a precious decision
taken by you,
when to turn words
of a few seconds
of a heart’s unburdening,
with
an inescapable reminder,
of the
thereabouts & the whyabouts
the very verity of a serious
causality
that parented the
casualties
we call
our poems
join me then,
in the processional
of denoting the origins,
linkage contained therein
to the work we
c r e a t e
*•for in the recording of the reckoning•
•exactitude of the longitude•
•and l’atitude is the truest revelation•
•of yourself•*
Jan 3, 2025
Jan 3, 2025 at 11:21 PM UTC
Besotted winged pollinators
roistering barrage drowned
amidst general insectivorous cacophony
indistinct auditory signals communicated
intermingled with bounteous wafting fragrance
midwifed edenic floral pullulation
sensate admixture viz colored spectrum
amidst unrehearsed extemporaneous
orchestral suite bedded lambs
amorous ewe man like bleating songs
nature all aflutter actively socially vociferating
profuse living color rainbow pastiche
teeming soundgarden smorgasbord
cornucopia ignites mordent Utopian aural swath
visual vistas stilling spellbinding
spilling riotous carpeted web
uniting doubting Thomas's existentialism
despite unanswered queries
asper diverse modalities each specie evolved
to survive despite countervailing destructive forces
generating plethora pandemonium ironically
promulgating harmonic exemplary convergence
Highland Manor concourse aflame with new life
parented by instinctive imprimatur anonymous patents
now genetic mapping usurped with untold outcome
analysis bred crispr discovery Earthlings fiddling
glorifies honied indemnity Judeo-Christian kudos
leaves of grass kudzo resistance mutation immunizes
biosphere once prolific differentiation shrinks
becoming monocultural setting virtual stage
catastrophe plus food shortage would become
global debacle predicated, sans virulent
viral and/or bacterial strain renting asunder
tripwire unspooling delicate webbed whirl
already widely compromised more so
since Rachel Carson wrote Silent Spring
**** sapiens population explosion
pits profligate predilections planet Earth in extremis
dire crisis cavalierly dismissed humans
in hot pursuit racking up superfluous wealth
***** deeds done dirt cheap - tricking
mother nature, who will unwittingly
spring scrumptious feeding off scrimmage
forcing capitulation or total extinction
meanwhile fostering long tall floral inflorescence
a composite having sessile flowers
apiary abuzz, cuz queen bee
can no longer wax bereft of royal jelly.
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 12:35 AM UTC
I’ve been treated like dirt,
been kicked around.
I have doubted my worth,
made not a sound.
Like an unaccounted for star,
I shone bright like the sun.
Begging for help,
I found no one.
A day came around,
when it finally hit.
I thought I had issues,
I ain’t got ****
I’ve seen kids become killers,
and friends pop pills.
I’ve seen “freaks” that frankly,
just can’t stand still.
I’ve seen people I know,
take their own lives.
I’ve seen grown men cry,
when they lost their wives.
I can’t believe,
I was so selfish.
I thought I had issues,
I ain’t got ****
There are people starving,
this world’s alarming,
there’s war and crippling disease.
To think for a second,
I had it worse,
was as selfish as can be.
I ain’t got ****
compared to the kid,
who’s parented just separated.
I ain’t got ****
compared to any person,
who’s lost a loved one.
I ain’t got ****
I ain’t got ****
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 9:34 PM UTC
Depression is deadly
It hides behind a mask
A mask of joy and pity
Depression is defined by
Self-hate
Self-deprecation
Self-harm
It holds you tight
Locks you in
Melts the key into a
Blade
Suffocates you then
Leaves
Abandones you and keeps
coming back to torture you
It stabs you
And leaves scars
That ****
It is parented by
Death and destruction
It controls you
Tells you to do things
Things you just have to
You can’t say no
No matter how much you want to
You try to call for
HELP
But no one will hear
Because it comes in the form
Of smiles and
I’m fines
It tears you down
And haunts your days
It sends hope through
Blades and Pills.
Makes you think that
You have tried
Even won
It destroys your
Future
Tears down your walls
Breaks away the hope of joy
Becomes the Queen
And calls for your head
You can try to lie in bed
But will be bombarded by
Thoughts of being dead
But if it left
You wouldn’t know how to
Continue
Would you be the fake strong
woman or the weak
Dying girl
Depression is non existent
But suicide is for attention seekers
My pain is my shadow that no one can
See
Suicide was forbidden until I
Completely forgot my reason
To live
It happened quickly
Sliced
Hung
OD’ed
Depression is never there
Even when its staring them in the
Face
Even when you beg for
Someone to notice they
Never can
There is always a medical solution
Therapy, rehab,
“Tell me about yourself”
Lies,Lies,Lies
The only solution Suicide
Suicide I shall choose
When I can’t dream
Of that happy place
Given to my on a late night of
anxiety
I will send myself there
So i don’t have to wake up
I can finally be free
But for now
I can still see that place
While it may be far
It’s still barely there
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 9:05 PM UTC