Best Handler Poems
Corralled in Plato’s cave,
groupies of untenable shadows,
silenced their intuitions to the smoke and other sighs.
Jamaica’s capital hosted a convention
giving an ever-leaving coward’s play a stage,
now his work is done.
Senior partner and the oldest liar —
the younger roo’s handler —
watches from his own Whitman’s tower;
one man walking past the fire,
brave enough to look at the sun,
his integrity can see behind it.
Hate moved a biased hand against him,
but the truth is like The Cross,
and vanity will always seek a mirror.
Beyond any conviction,
immutable.
Forever keeping themselves,
beautiful.
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Written: 05.01.20 – 05.03.20
Inspired by the bravery, intellectual honesty and integrity of my friend Mark Koplin.
Guaranteed to Blow Your Mind
Farrokh Bulsara a.k.a. Freddie Mercury
British singer, songwriter known universally
Confirmed he had AIDS and then died the next day
His music through Queen still rocks us all the way
Came a man from Zanzibar named Farrokh
Whose tastes were both flamboyant and baroque
For fame he was ready
Changed his name to Freddie
After his death millions still love this bloke
A Heathrow baggage handler prior to fame
Wrote a song about his favorite cat, Delilah by name
In his personal life he was very shy, gentle and kind
His life and times are “guaranteed to blow your mind”
Lone traveler
A journey that only once last,
From birth to death a unique cast.
We cross million milestone on our way,
Sometimes with purpose, or to escape our dismay.
For so many faces, we come through;
Some memories or experience that just outgrew.
But even though with a lot around;
A traveler is still alone, world ward bound.
Because for all we may face or suffer,
Its ourselves who learn, or may makes us tougher.
Nature’s beauty, God’s creation,
Human sarcasm, a routine visualization.
None left forbidden with this irony of life,
Every now and then, may discover that nostalgic vibe.
Scrutiny of his journey, accomplished by himself,
Inference drawn, enforced on oneself.
Life is a journey, as they may say;
Between truth and lies, the traveler sways.
Time comes when high road is taken,
Time comes when its dealt low.
People may vary with ups and down,
But on genuine path, a traveler is lone.
None phases of life left spared,
For we may believe on that, “one” handler,
Miles to go, long road to cover,
By, ‘us’ the, “lone traveler”.
PRATEEK SHUKLA
Sadie Terrier
Scottish origin
Wins Westminster's
2010 contest
Hurray for Sadie
Pulchritude is
Pert, alert, shows
The audience
Glamorous side
Gave handler
A run in
The fast ring
The Black
Scottish
Sadie
Dog
Sandra Bullock did overpower
Chelsea Handler in her shower
And as she slapped poor Handler
She really was a man handler
But that just made Chelsea glower
the old dog walker
faithful, punctual, cheerful....
handler of much waste
The masculine nature of man,
That's the 'he' in him.
The great super ego.
The drive to be the boss.
The strive to be the best.
The non-negotiable choice
to be reckoned with.
He is the architect of a home.
He is the head in a family.
He is the creator of workplace(s).
He is the propeller of inventions of awe.
He is the soft handler of females.
He is the nurturer of suckling babes.
A friend,one jolly friend.
A lover,one true lover.
A father,one intimate father.
A worker,one diligent fellow.
A humanitarian, one saver of lives.
And one more,'he' who craves for peace.
Its a tearful flaw flashback
How i came to be a murderer me
How my life turned like a leaf in strong winds
And now my soul bleeds guilt
My heart Itch's the love went sore
It all started at our young lovemaking
On one of our indoors romantic dates
The silent hotel room that saw our love grow and glow
The 4 walls that only knew our secrets
All started in a special way
The merrymaking hands touch
To the face to face love looks
Like a couple in their last night of love
The kisses out of close glares
The body caressing that exploded our feelings
One act leading to another
From the seats to the sheets
But how could we stop this
I wish i knew it would end the way it did
I wish i knew it was sweet only for seconds
I wish, i had learnt how i do now
For the end came, the mission accomplished
The flavour gotten, not as i thought
He had nothing to lose, nothing to follow
My virginity,my purity,my all
What followed haunts me
And the haunt hurts me
I realised i was two in one
But took me months to decide
For it was a commitment, i was young to fall into
So defenceless,so immature
My only way out, the choice my intelligence
To get rid of it,considered it a 'thing' not a life
For i hated to feel its wrong,a feeling that could stop me
Am here now,in pain n vain
In tears and fears
Feeling a murderer and a handler
Sleepless nights feeling the cry of my daughter
Feeling her pinch my heart
From the toilet i dumped her
Like a lunatic took the last look n flushed
Sorry daughter, i was not me
A sharp, nifty sword and blade, looked as if it was carefully made
Thick, pointy, silver and shiny, brimmed to not look that tiny
Only delicate hands can not handle it good, a remark that the sword finds rude
When picked and raised to the air, the blade finds an opponent that seems quite fair
The opponent, eyes timid like a snake, made the blade feel this was a bad sake
The other swords handler showed a nasty grin, looking glum, thin and raspy
His mouth shut, resembling the appearance of a grown up mutt
His teeth not shown, otherwise bundles of leaking foam would appear, along with his disgusting sneer
The sword and blade, handled by his master, found no pleasure in making a fight, he just wanted things to go more faster
Oh these words fell so harshly
spread amongst our beaten ears
a lashing cruelly shared
....perpetuated
....flames stoked by hot air
Ugly sides of bitter souls
mirthfully determined to discourage
grasping for sullen companions
spreading the black thin and wide
embracing the abyss blissfully
Fear and distrust given contagious wings
A vengeful hawk soaring
manipulating the wind of lies
then perches again on
the arm of a deceitful handler
Confounded masses fed from a trough
a slop of negative gruel sated the willing
gluttons conspire to poison naive revelers
hand feeding susceptible fawns tainted grain
leaving plague like damage in wake.....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Blessed are those souls refusing to succumb
filtering and illuminating, nurturing clarity and wisdom
passing torches, not swords, in which to battle blindness
freeing thought through expression and uninhibited honesty
curing the poison of prejudice with the light of love and humanity
Roman Candle
I lost your respect
Soon I felt like your insect
Dodging your repellant.
And your constant inspection.
Once spoon
Fed the
Nourishing
Golden honey
Of your love
Without notice
Left in the cold
With a mighty shove
And without any money.
How could a love
As hot as a
Sparkling Roman candle
Fizzle out to be
As cold and dead
As a frozen pan handler?
You were my
Manna from heaven
Now you’re my bite
Of bitter unleavened bread.
Most days now I
Walk around
As if I’m dead
Without you
In my bed.
How could such
Loving things be said,
When none of them
Could possibly be kept?
Because of you
I’ve
Wept
Wept
And Wept.
Didn’t I at least
Deserve an
Ounce of
Your respect?
The fog left from a wintery snow
Where snow flakes glimmer to the story behind Christmas
As children laugh and play
When pine trees lighten the story behind Christmas
The skid marks of snow mobiles
Where parade mobiles add to the story behind Christmas
Along the roads in a small town
When Santa waves to the story behind Christmas
Not too far from here
Where children sing to the story behind Christmas
The path of righteous stands clear
When bells ring to the story behind Christmas
Where there is glory near
The story behind Christmas my dear
Sights of gaze and steer are frosty
When people reach out to the story behind Christmas
And held dear to the hearts of many
Where elves make toys at the story behind Christmas
The love is reminiscence in luminosity
When the clock strikes at the story behind Christmas
Not for faith to be indulged
Where the hour glass fills to the story behind Christmas
The blear insight of atrocity indisputable
When the train passes in the story behind Christmas
Reputable to the peace in question
Where pine cones reflect the story behind Christmas
Where it is an ostentatious handler
I’m the pair of fists belonging to Danny Rand’s identity
Along the ranks of Marvel’s super hero-integrity…
“Iron Fist” is my label against cowardice-instability
Powered to advance justice verity
Making my owner an incredible fighter, so mighty
Being a master of K'un-Lun's martial arts with brave superiority.
Having providing my handler a living weapon of excellent utility
I won over the dragon, Shou-Lao for victorious majesty…
Plunging into the fiery substance toward firm capability
I’m harnessed to channel chi energy’s responsibility
Toward amplified force, sans breakability
Willing to fight terrors of cruelty.
Here am I, helping my possessor for heroic functionality
Immune to pain and injury along hurt’s sensitivity
Always ready to rescue for the sake of good humanity
By healing others with my glowing powerful formidability…
Yet, in reality, I admit my non-existence in the eyes of GOD Almighty*.
Who deserves thanks, praises, glory and exaltation for HIS Sovereignty.
*1Timothy 1:17 Now unto the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only wise God, be honour and glory for ever and ever. Amen.
February 8, 2023
1st place, "Marvel Superhero or Supervillain" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Robert James Liguori; judged on 2/20/2023.
The rubber roo is a fantastic work of art.
Constructed of rubber, as to never fall apart.
It has a large round head with little arms and legs.
It strongly bares the resemblance of a hard boiled egg.
It’s made to punch and kick around.
The perfect back yard toy to deliver a righteous beat down.
It’s for your everyday frustration, it’s never broke a toe.
Kick it barefoot or with a boot, you can even pick it up and throw.
But leave it parked outside, it has one special part.
The backside where you kick, kind of smells like a bad old fart.
It comes with its own private handler carefully packaged in the box.
Our factory is cleverly hidden, way out in the boondocks.
Willy Wonka Is Not Here So What Is My Factory Going to Make Poetry Contest.
Caren Krutsinger
5-10-20
My heart knows what it wants
But to my luck it's off limits
Beauty I can see and not touch
Obey the sign read and listen
My ever increasing desire
Diamond I want to hold you
There is glass in my way
I must respect not break through
I know this diamond is priceless
And should be handled with care
If I could put it up on a pedestal
Something I'd definitely dare
If I had an opportunity just once
If prove I'm the perfect man
Elegant diamond would be displayed
I wpuld take care best i can
I see a very rare value
A beautiful diamond in the rough
I want to fix and fine tune
From being handled to tough
If I was the lucky handler
Of this most beautiful gem
I would respect and cherish it
Until my last breathe it gave in
Written 3-3-19