ambulatory itinerant vagabond
nomadic nuisance
feared by some
adored by others
wayfaring wood tick
travels on white tail deer
enjoying his journey and beast’s blood
Who are the ugly people?
I cannot really see
Your nose is a tad wonky
But seems perfectly shaped to me
Who are the ugly people?
Perhaps the way you stroll
Is not quite catwalk ready
But you have ambulatory soul
Who are the ugly people?
Your hair it whisps and flies
And yet I see the beauty
Hidden there behind your eyes
Who are the ugly people?
If you stutter when you talk
I just hear words of kindness
Though the world may call you dork
Who are the ugly people?
Not the poets or the painters
It's the socials and the media
Determined they should taint us
Who are the ugly people?
Not the ones who try their best
But the judgement laden critics
Or the ones who just detest
Who are the ugly people?
Those who preen, pout or pretend?
For ugly is a choice we make
From inside, in the end
14th October 2023
stopped at forget
it's a very strange thing indeed
when walking at a normal speed
your eyes set on circumspect,
brain bent on way to target
then suddenly, that metronome
that ambulatory twilight zone
of thoughtless walk
begins to balk-
left, then right- then left again
how goes, again...?
a sudden ruckus of red- sirens pound passed!
a fire- somewhere ahead! outta the way, fast!
it's a very strange thing indeed
when remembering at a normal speed
to suddenly stop, at forget
and blatantly miss your recollect
Dearest Physical Therapist~Ryan:
?When you see the rough coating on a
pineapple, do think of me.......
The outside, rough and hard to open.
The inside, soft and loving as can be!
Thank you for all your work with me.
Four full months, with a-stubborn donkey.
Who, by your magic, is now quite happily,
Out of bed........and so very, very, ambulatory!
Thank you!
Pangie
BIO MODIFIED - SOUTHERN GENTLEMAN
Southern
Being courteous, sentimental, compassionate, helpful to others
I love Jesus, Southern Gospel Music, and Family
It is my plan to buy a new car, travel, and be on my own
Blessed to feel content, at peace, and filled with joy
My fear is not being ambulatory, losing my eyesight and being bedridden
Meet President Trump, restore late model cars, and sing bass in a gospel quartet
I am a resident of the great State of Georgia, one of the original 13 colonies
Gentleman
18 April 2020
For the contest sponsored by Dear Heart
weird clouds in a calm sky
a tornado is spotted
children want to peek
its roaring toward us
many are hysterical
hospital hallway
lights go out silence
day turns ebony
alerts hit cellphones
uncomfortable
in my flimsy paper gown
next to wheelchairs
some run towards basement
non-ambulatory can't
I stay with my friends
two are panicking
two of us reassure them
we are in gods hands
tornado turns north
leaving these babies alone
sitting on dads lap
crazy crying now
great relief we are all safe
it missed hospital
Turning your eyes to distant stars,
You witness infinity spinning as it has
Aeons upon aeons before you were born,
Orbits and memories, oceans and dust.
Wherever you are, but a speck,
An ambulatory grain, sparkling, alive,
Epitome of the momentary
Whether a witness on a Vientiane roof,
An ancient observatory in Beijing
Or some sandy step in Samarqand
Your true tale
One amid seemingly endless stories
No less, no more than any other.
Dare you speak of identity and legacies?
May as well debate the dreams of spinosaurs!
And yet we sing, defying our future silence,
The vast eternities pending
Knowing our yawning cosmos has been
Changed by far less long before
And perhaps once again
With the same ease as a Sunday sabaidee.
Every day, we breathe oxygen;
but do we ever thank the trees,
which provide it?
Trees, like humans, grow and produce offspring.
They have roots in the soil;
human roots walk upon the soil.
Trees have trunks; humans have torso’s.
Trees have limbs and branches;
People have arms and legs.
Tree fingers are tiny twigs,
that grow from their limbs;
branching outwards,
they stretch to greet the sun;
just as humankind looks upwards,
to feel the warmth of the sun.
Like humans, trees have skin;
their bark protects them;
contains their sinewy,
wooden muscles and tendons.
When trees breathe;
they produce oxygen,
which help humans to breathe.
Trees generously share their,
breath of life.
Yet, how often do we humans
thank the trees?
They never expect it,
but such a gift deserves
a great big hug and a thank you.
After all,
it costs nothing to be grateful.
Becoming polar.
The climax comes
without end.
The physical
intimacy of headliners ?
You were not reaching anywhere.
Pretty large
was the near-view.
Eons ago there was a neoclassicism.
The core intensity
was golden.
But circumference was ambulatory.
Planets will watch
the rover
for the final descent of god !
Satish Verma
Picking a lock you break
a bloodline. A stargazer
maps the astrological signs
and connects with the
moon in oviduct:
wriggling,
coiling.
There were no foeticide qualms,
in rappelling to shamanic healing.
It was not a deference for any
deity. A ritual
gives you
name, gives
you fame.
Wearing a wooden sandal which
keeps you electrified with
divinity. This is ambulatory.
You move on the green earth
squashing the grass,
grasshoppers
beating the
Venus.
Satish Verma
The frozen voice hangs on the
door. A crowd waits.
Midnight explosions
will start soon
to herald a benevolent sky-
for squatters.
In rise and fall of an empire
I won’t put any label
to generation drift. The
changing geography will
take care of the ashes.
A ragpicker will tell the story.
Ambulatory moon
had become economical, blanching
the stained dreams only
like our land’s wounds.
The sea of hate lies naked before us
to sweep the carcasses. I know not
how to become omnivorous.
Satish Verma
In my spotless kitchen when I turned
on the light, there's this ambulatory inkspot
scuttling from sight. Dare I name it?
even the name is ugly. Roach, penultimate
horror, black and bug-ly. I'm a swat team
of the broom and spray bottle Clorox for
the odorous demise of this miniscule lummox.
Uneducated insect, he deserved to die,
didn't even try to move up in evolution,
become part of the solution. I wish this fate
for all of his ilk, as I sit "sans" remorse
to read Silk-o, Momaday, and Rilke.
Savannah, pretty city of the South
Where I spent half a day of my life
Eating your delicious bread
Mixing the smoke of my pipe
With your warm air
Riding in carts pulled by big ambulatory horses
Pissing in your sewage
And wending even more
Southward
You left behind
A shining point
On the turning trajectory
Of my life