Best Abilities Poems
I was born different
I am such a one who can't talk
I am such a one who can't walk
Maybe such a one who can't see
Maybe such a one who can't hear
Maybe such a one who is retarded
Maybe such one who can't physically
do This or that.
I am such a one you made feel
Like I couldn't be. My inability to do
One thing or a couple of things doesn't
Make me unable to do other things. I can't
Hear or talk but I can walk and see,
I can't walk and see but I can hear and talk.
We all have our strengths and weaknesses, just
Because I couldn't do this or that and you could
Do it, doesn't make me disabled and you able. We Are just two different people with different abilities and there is no such a one as a person with disabilities
Nature’s Divine Abilities
The hummingbird’s skill
Hover in mid-air dining
Sucking sweet nectars
sunshine williams
For Joy
He awakened each morning-
To the winnowing train whistle,
And the glowing appearance of a day-
Undeniably fitting of summer;
The heavens yet lingered pink,
Unlocked screen doors ~ sturdy in nature,
The aroma of freshly baked bread pervading-
Throughout the old coal-mining town,
Carefully prepared peanut butter
Sandwiches by the dozen;
Eighteen clumsy, bright-eyed boys-
Huddled at the dusty patch field ~ Isabella ~
Undoubted innocence ~ children of joy ~
Without decoration ~
Only freckled faces, Wrangler blue jeans-
And sneakers, crew cuts and striped t-shirts ~
Without numbers;
Blasphemous parents were obscure,
No policemen to summon ~
Playing ball until the soft fingertips-
Of the radiant sun caressed the blue moon,
Dashing home before the curfew puffed,
Only to begin...again,
Four home runs today,
The Natural ~
No fortune ~ no fame,
Simply perfect passion for the game.
Written for my dad, Paul Redzanic, Jr.
prism
quaver
pirouette
iridescent
blessed
spire
rose quartz
amethyst
fluidity
orb
gyre
topaz
naruto
ayurveda
strums
No Telling What Abilities
No telling what abilities he had;
Knowledge might be very bad
Being moron or case that is borderline
So was asked politely to resign
Now we are happy and very glad.
Jim Horn
So hard to swallow
My thoughts are tough to follow
Opinions barrowed
By Robb A. Kopp
My missing muse is experiencing self-imposed blues.
She's probably under some yonder weeping willow tree ....
making friends, again, with my inadequacies.
My cognitive skills often ruffle-stuff her confused.
She knows my regrets that sorry is all I have except waiting ....
praying to grow us both through.
Muse, it's best we jest and laugh.
That's it, that's all I have,
still, please come back.
Jealousy leaves a bitter taste in one’s mouth
Like a persimmon plucked before the first frost,
The consequence is sarcastic, mean words spit out
At immeasurable cost.
As for me, yes, I am envious of raw talent I don’t have
But in a positive way, I admire gifts of others glossed,
I believe swallowing jealousy stifles and chokes creativity
At immeasurable cost.
A person is more content doing what they alone can do
Not measuring it against what someone else has tossed,
For we are all special in our own, uniquely gifted ways
At immeasurable cost.
So, I try to do my very best, developing my paltry skills
I do not concentrate on, but simply enjoy, not accost,
Others who develop and share their God-given talents
At immeasurable cost.
written March 18, 2022
They say you can’t be in two places at the same time.
Like so many errors, that knowledge is based on fact and not experience.
I know this is true because I have been in many places at once.
The other day, for instance, I was lying on top of the stone wall of a small bridge that spanned a creek. It was along the Old Harrisburg Pike just outside Lancaster, Pa. As the warmth of the sun bathed my body I could feel sunbeams resting on my legs from the bottom of my cut off jeans to the top of my black high-top sneakers. My spindly thirteen-year-old arms poked through what used to be a white t-shirt, now gray and tatty after being worn all summer; washed only from the creeks and rivers I visited. As I lay on the bridge, I knew I was also someplace else, running room to room in my grandmother’s big house knowing I could stop anywhere for a hug or to ride a knee, or feel a huge hand tousle my hair and call me ‘beautiful boy’.
As certain as I was that I was there on that bridge that day savoring the sunlight, I was also there savoring the love in that big house.
Now, I am here with you as you read this. The truth is, I am in all places where the human heart knows love as I have known it.
I can be in much more than two places at one time.
I can be in all places where there is warmth and love.
The tears I cry through recollections are not tears of loss, they are tears of recognition. I recognize now that I am present in all places of love. It is my home. These places are in me forever, they are in us all. we have but to look for them. So, those who say you cannot be in two places at once are wrong.
You can be in two places at the same time. You can be in all places at the same time. One day you will be. They are also wrong about something else. They say: “you can never go home again”, but, you can go home again.
Each day we are traveling a road that leads us home together.
it is the most beautiful journey we will ever take.
There are abilities in disabilities
So shun idioms that mock any form of disabilities
I know a fellow that has his physical frame unbalanced
And his head obliguely and disingenuously referenced
With slash reference Oriogbade may look dowd
But his wisdom these disabilities couldn't shroud
I hail his sense of humour for being so superb
And the philosophies canned in his proverb
The lessons in life are lives themselves
Oriogbade taught us to believe in ourselves
There shouldn't be such idiom again as turn a blind spot
For Oriogbade, his proverbs prove that he's a hotshot
Should there be someone that can help him to the top
I mean someone that can give him a leg up
Like those who brought him on air to grease his wheels
In order to fortify his resolutions against future ordeals
Oriogbade will be a recreation in the movie works
With his disposition he won't be a spanner thrown in the works
As he begins to breathe with profit and from his wrenches unclench
May he never be clenched again to go back to the trench
Beauty graced the sky and earth that very day
Master painter's painbrush painted the clouds some with apricot~ such a hue
Surrounding these with three shades of blue..
"This is not enough", said He..
Then like magic from the Painter's brush appears a perfect reflection of the sky upon
the earth ~beautiful blue and apricot reflecting from rain drenched country road..
Snow of white, clean as bleached sheets that hang upon a country clothesline, stays
back to let the mirrored image shine...
Such quiet afer a storm reminds me of a quote from a writer that I know~Constance
La France who once wrote, "I have dipped my pen in the sublime, it is my gift to
you."
With one stroke, God's paintbrush impressed upon my mind a sense of the grandeur
and power of His abilities..A Creator that is Sublime
Contest:"Writing In The Sublime"
Sponsor:Constance La France
Written by:Sara Kendrick
This is your moment
This is the time when you need to rise. There is no back door to the house
That is butted up against the hardness of your memory. Always, the only
Way out is through what you are facing. Do not think you will take
The easy way. There is no easy way. Although the paths are unlimited,
None are without the work you need to perform, or the sacrifice you
Need to make. There will be people in your life that carry flashlights for
The dark. You will see their light and call them Angels. They believe that
They are saving you, but it is you who are saving them by providing the
Purpose they feel is missing in their lives. Nothing is missing. We have only
To look for it in the many rooms of the house in which we all reside. There
Is no count for the number of rooms in our house. If you seek, you will
Always find. For we are each a part of the one mind of God. We walk
Together throughout those many rooms. For many, the room they find Themselves in is the only life they can imagine. We are all endowed with
The same Super-power. Our imagination allows us to envision any of the
Unlimited number of rooms in our house. We can move through any
Door into any room to reveal and experience any aspect of ourselves.
All that is necessary is for us to change our mind and free our creative
Ability to imagine. Those who have done so before have always
Succeeded, as will we. Imagine yourself in a different room of this
House in which we all reside and by the choices you make let
Life help you journey to that place because...
This is your moment
With eyes of grey, no longer whole the cross you bare - to see no more.
That’s what I see as I look on and so I start to write this song.
Your body broke, bound to a chair. Up at the world you’re forced to stare
and watch from sidelines day to day. Then fall the verses to my page.
Your now deaf ears and muted voice reveal to me - you have no choice
but sit in isolation’s chair. The melody next comes to bare.
Your face is not as others are, left wanting redress from the scars.
Alone now more than any else. The chorus forms so as to tell.
Your mind from birth was incomplete. Cold institutions your retreat.
Shunned by the world nigh unto death. The final touches do attest.
Then pausing to review my prose, can’t help but think and want to know -
why has God left you broken such and not revealed the Healer’s touch?
Quick fall my pages into flame as wanton souls in vision’s frame
appear before my eyes of clay that seeing, see a different way.
Revealing that I have been wrong and beckons, “write a different song”.
A song that leaves me void of pride as questions make me look inside.
Though in the dark the blind must be, they cannot judge what they can’t see,
and I have sorrowed much thereby. Which one of us is broken?
And though the lame do not stand tall they do not trample one and all,
and I have sorrowed much thereby. Which one of us is broken?
And though the deaf and mute reside in silent isolation’s tide,
the silence bares the Spirit’s voice. Which one of us is broken?
And though the maimed must hide their face they do not play love’s foolish games.
Oh, I have sorrowed much thereby. Which one of us is broken?
Yes, though detested some live life, they live outside our world of strife
where I have sorrowed much thereby. Which one of us is broken?