"quadriplegic" poems
The burning hunger of fractured regret
Your blasphemous assumption of my stupidity?
in whose material conundrum of a word?
in what abstract thought on your minimal plane?
An endless valley of craters and breaks
Monosyllabic color in your grossly proportioned mind
With all rotting media disgust and YOU mock me?
You ballooned beast of a drunken horror film nominee
The paint on a pigs face will always burn inward
Scarring the inside craniotomy
Until nothing is left but the repetition of a credo
An incline of standard flat bodies
****** up and deposed All living in a drawl world
Steeped in liquid
Stretched thin to cover the inquiries
To burn over and brand the thinkers and the lots
An Oklahoma city bombing is still carved into your fair-haired breath
Your bigotry is hilarious because my disgust could eat us all
Yes I am leaping off my high horse but **** you I deserve it
We frown upon pride unless it is clothed in metaphors of suppression
And to what do you overcome?
Your perfect quiet suburban upbringing
Exposure blackballing the floor boards filled with lies
Lies that are my foundation
Rocks that rust into marbles rattling
Around my stomach
With every rung the anger in my rib cage calls out to you
The yelping, the sheltered closet and the oriental rugs
Yes I am dumb like you
More happier in this fatal dichotomy
of a trip **** holy **** despotic mess.
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 9:26 AM UTC
You judge me
My abilities are limited
My skills peak out
At knee level
Or lack thereof
But I am the Quadriplegic Ninja
Combat I fight with inner strength
A punch I pack
Comes with arms I lack
You will question
How you were beat
By the ninja with no feet
Words I use
As my greatest weapon
Once I'm done
You better get steppin
Well
Cause you can
I'm Quadriplegic Ninja
The ***** I give are zero
Ask me anytime
And I will be your hero
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 12:51 AM UTC
May I have a slice, please? Plain would be fine...
a plain slice of happiness
no sir, I don't have Cancer or MS,
I'm not not a paraplegic or quadriplegic,
haven't served my country and lost limbs,
I'm nowhere near as heart sore as so many,
my plain pain is just -
plain but powerful
in a plainly powerful way
is it possible that
when I feel
that life has taken a nose dive
when it crashes,
I'd prefer to sink than swim?
is that ok?
hope so.
drown in molasses of every day,
try that an any age,
struggle with every decision made,
wrestle with forces that come
at you from every side of life...
wry smile, wry groan,
there is no explaining,
when you chose one thing over another
it is one that missed out
that,
of course was...
is my heart shattering,
my tiresome immobility,
lessened because it is
unseen on
the outward unbound,
leeward side?
is plain pain somehow
insufficient, lacking in
character?
the delirious mystery
of my thoughts
doesn't need spicing,
oregano or basil,
sympathy cards,
and tsk tsk cluckings....
but the steady erosion of exhaustion
weakens me in ways
that leaves me
asking, hoping,
for just
a plain slice of happiness
how can that cost so much?
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
Http://www.Merriam-Webster.com/Dictionary/Quadriplegic
Quadriplegic: one affected with paralysis of both arms and both legs
Or... BEAST!
**When moonlight isn't enough to lubricate the darkest corners
of a hopeless heart...
When the air is heavy
and still
and a lonely heart is crying out
IMUPDREAMIN'
When another bottle won't do... or medicine cabinet remedies
Poetry is a righteous intoxicant
Love is still a filthy word lying around in the condition I'm in
Your lungs will get the best of you
The air is thin
Too noisy to breathe
There isn't enough oxygen in a pointless relationship
for a weak heart to respire;
I've got an incurable condition
on so many levels
Love's bubble boy
I may suffocate if exposed to what would be considered
a fair amount, or any joy whatsoever
Something about my cells. Consequently this is my cell in here;
I'm a prisoner in my thick skin
When moonlight is a memory
and the sun has risen for the good of a concrete rose...
When the air is toxic
and stings
and an infected heart is dying out
IMUPDREAMIN'
When I've burned through the bag ...
when I'd already reached my ceiling
I write poems about the feeling
reaching out to love again
Bubble be ******
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
*quadriplegic
polychythemic
a voice behind my ears
golden fields
winds I feel
eyes shed my tears
sunbeam lights
pale blue skies
vast meadowy hills
voice I listen
her tone glistens
vision disappears
heartfelt stories
of sights of glories
and yet excites all my fears
I open my eyes
smiles so wide
vision suddenly clears
sits on my lap
then a gentle tap
as I sit with much drear
I close my eyes
awake to familiar sights
my eyes cover with tears*
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 7:15 AM UTC
after anne sexton
12/3/2015
Here is a vivisection,
my dull operation,
cutting into my epidermis,
pulling out maggots and rat pups,
scuttling across the scalpel,
Armillaria inside of my tendons
this itself is: a deposession,
a sort of pneumic
inquisition, the
paucity of the gold striking someone
sick running down my shoulders
quadriplegic in motion,
temperament boiling
hissing now stovetop unattended
foaming at the mouth falling into the hot ,
moving and finally
over the edge the foam sick bile like
Sliding onto the voided floor
stitch me back up.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC
How do you manage this disadvantage of a weakness,
Bleakness is the skill but nobody wants to seek this
but they tell me nobodies perfect but I'm imperfectly strategic,
I might as well be quadriplegic to have to listen to this weak ****
well,
maybe I'm the problem now, they say what goes up must come down
but down goes the intelligence, along with the modesty
is this real life or a satirical comedy
and honestly, I don't wanna be a wanna be
I wanna see the lack of novelty affecting the life I see
but hey, maybe it's just me and my weakness is my psychology
maybe it's just me
well, maybe it's just me
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC
He was a paraplegic,
Cursed to see the world from the height of a wheelchair.
He recognised a woman who loved him without care,
For his misfortune. The woman being quite strategic,
Always said at least you aren't a quadriplegic,
And that was what established them as a pair.
The mutual love and respect they both share,
Because even if he was handicapped she didn't see it.
She was blind,
An affliction through her whole life,
The scent of the rose that promised her, to be his wife,
And she didn't mind.
For something between the two connected them.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 12:34 AM UTC
multiple efforts and attempts got made
to communicate feedback sans the young spirited female - hoof from this hoarse neighing stranger - for bravery gives ye Top most grade
gena buza - whose spinal cord became frayed
thus, an audio file plucked inside me - i.e. loss one must not evade
though unsure if anyone of the heart felt emotion got conveyed
sorry to be a nuisance if inxs of umpteen copies
of my sincere literary endeavor might induce editors to up braid
me - cuz...life lesson encapsulated within that tragic automobile accident -
if me left quadriplegic - i would be afraid.
from n anonymous respondent who counts himself as a decades old penny wise
and pound foolish die hard TIME MAGAZINE patron -
whose own emotional travails evoke empathy
with another bound by barriers well he doth consider a worthy prize!
i became transfixed n enamored at your beauty
the wheelchair vanished to bequeath a duty
to commend you - from this papa whose sentiments
take wing and fly toward poetics somewhat fruity
yet...a tenderness prodded me - a blowfish who swims
in the cyber seas - without giving a hooty
that this dada of deux darling young adult daughters
can seemingly make a buffoon of himself
while cyber surfing the muddy waters
if only to bring a smile
to a complete stranger (whose captioned picture with an online archive file
posted in TIME, whereby these eyes saw an agile
beautiful nymph - preparing for a high school prom
as your mom
brushed debris from your wheeled golden chariot
to prepare your queenly debut with aplomb
knowing that no handicap
can undermine the maternal love - in whose lap
u suckled, nestled, molly coddled b4 your ***** trap
left thee paralyzed - yet the will to live fate did not zap!
from...matthew harris
postscript: my humblest apology for any duplicate messages. such redundancy can be attributed to uncertainty if this commentary in reaction to the JUNE 20TH 2014 ISSUE TIME MAGAZINE LIGHTBOX reached the above sublime in question.
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 7:54 AM UTC
This Quadriplegic Heart
This quadriplegic heart
gone the way of the dinosaur,
deprived, feelings deceasing,
mind and body carrying on
as one dead and existing.
Solitary isolation my prison shroud,
worn, and no one comes near,
tender touches and tender words,
memories confined to a fading past,
as I embrace loneliness like a lover.
James E. Roethlein copyright 2021
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 9:42 PM UTC
To a starving child
would you offer food for thought
To a mute
would you offer a caring word
To a quadriplegic
would you offer a step ahead
To an insomniac
would you offer them a bed
To a shadow
would you offer it shade in the summer
To a drum
would you offer a beat for unnecessary drama
But no on a serious note; we're offering things
often to force ourselves in offing our heads/
—overthinking a gesture, is as good as to pretend
Playing your mind in chess,
a game of war that none can escape the draft
We're checkers until we're being examined for our past
Imploding cringey memories; a grenade for a present/
all the gifts beforehand a thought's delivery; all pre sent
Pretty less, on feeling less after the care I get
sort of a mind set to care less, seeming careless
on revaluating any of my regrets:
Hurricanes for past events, destroyed by past missteps
...tell me what's next, and what to expect?
Offer me a starving child,
and I'll feed them well in help,
and knowledge to never starve again
Offer me a mute,
and I'll voice their pain in an echo,
that simple words can't explain
Offer me a quadriplegic,
and I'll take the steps to help them
stand proudly on their outstanding worth
Offer me an insomniac
and I won't rest until they find a lost comfort
of all their dreams, spoken on with ill words
Offer me a shadow
and I'll shed light on the dark corners
of not only myself, but those lost in darkness
Offer me a drum
and I won't beat around the bush, on
making a load roar of one's injustice
_...these, these are all my world offerings_
Feb 23, 2023
Feb 23, 2023 at 3:32 PM UTC
My heart
bleeds for you.
I had never
forgot the
things you do,
i still appreciate you.
Maybe with time,
i will one day
really become
unrecognisable,
smiling toothless
sitting down
by your side
with my frail
body as you
reach out to me.
Will you still
need me,
will you still
love me,
will you still
hold me and
say those
beautiful words still.
Would you still
look into my
wrinkled face and
still kiss my
twisted lips.
Would you walk
with me still
with my wobbly legs
and bent back.
Would you be
patient with me
as my weak bladder
droll ***** all
over as i
pace the floor
with you.
As you chat
with me and
i stare away
into the space
but never heard
anything you said,
because of my
failing ears or
didn't understand
anything you said,
by reason of dementia,
would you be
angry with me.
As I mess up
my clothes with
food on the
dining table because
of my Parkinson's
shaky hands,
or quadriplegic hands
would you be patient
and not shout down
or scold me
for not being perfect.
Maybe with time
as time goes on,
it will happen.
Promise me you
will stay by
my side and
love me still.
©2019,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
May 14, 2019
May 14, 2019 at 4:48 PM UTC