Best Ironically Poems
Hey, my name is Aaron and I am kinda a modern day superhero
Now I know what you’re thinkin’
Okay, this guy? A hero? Like with powers and skills?
Nah but before you think further hear me out.
Yes… I don’t have money like Stark or Wayne
I don’t have a back story like Peter Parker and definitely not a love interest like Mary Jane.
I don’t have a super serum or gamma radiation to explain the chemical imbalances in my brain
My super hero name is not catchy or personifying.
Normally it comes along as,
“Dude”
“Brother”
“Son”
“Dad”
But you see I know how it feels to not be able to save the ones you love most,
To always try and do the right thing but still fail the ones closest to you.
When other's worlds are falling apart I’m always the planet they land on
Now what I do have is a secret identity,
Hiding the pains and struggles I bare to bare the problems of those who can’t themselves.
While Ironically not wanting to put the burden on someone else because I feel I’m strong enough and the traumas others go through are way worse than mine.
My super powers aren’t swinging from roof tops or having my fiery flaming eyes glistening,
Mine are as simple as loving and listening.
Never judging and forever being understanding,
Fighting the villains that are your biggest weakness that have no effect on me.
You see,
Depression, Anxiety, mental tortures
Family traumas and mental disorders
Those of which I’m immune to like superman to bullets,
Now I do have a kryptonite.
losing site on the ones closest to me because I go out of my way to try and save others.
Because even though my life is impossibly knotted,
If I can still manage to untangle someone else’s and hopefully inspire them to be the light they want to see in this villainous world, then I know I have done what I’ve been called to be,
To be the hero I don’t deserve.
It was what it was
A stunning photograph
of
a
toilet
Ironically
it was
in the end
a microcosm
of
life
today
Creative
and positive
in its composition
Limited
and depressing
in its
stark reality
No matter
how
you paint
it
we
are
in
the
toilet of our existence
No matter
how you condemn it
it's how you deal with it
what you make of it
and in the end
even a **** house
serves its purpose
Detached - Even Circuits Hum
A Music Video
As twilight turns to tangled thought,
and truth tiptoes down trembling streets.
Once, wonder serenaded willowed winds
now shadows embrace muted retreats
Wary hearts weave walls so wide
against a faceless, coded tide,
while glowing grids in distant bays
bloom haunting weaves they won't embrace
Dualistic stars and digital dawns
Cinematic cradles human ache,
but some still long for candle flames,
and fingerprints the codes can't fake.
Dreading the hushed holograms,
the warmth that AI cannot wear.
Forgetting that even circuits hum
with aspirations hidden there
If only we could sense serenity
Pulsing between each quiet stream—
Machine or muse, to earnestly strive
for something more than just a dream
We could wildly dance on data plains,
where algorithms tap like rain.
let compassion code our names,
and poetic lines rewire the pain.
The muse may wear a mirrored face
But still, she sings with glowing grace.
When the talented digital artist AIMetamotion approached me to create a song that would complement her stunning artwork, I was immediately inspired. The result is 'Detached', a haunting track that tells the story of a robot grappling with the overwhelming flood of emotions brought on by a sensory chip—a concept not so far-fetched, given the rapid advancements in AI technology.
Though she sings her ironically titled anthem of detachment, the visuals tell a different story. Her struggle is evident, her resistance almost poetic, hinting at the complexity of emotion even in synthetic form.
This is just the beginning. A sequel is already in the works, diving deeper into her journey. The question remains: will she finally succumb to the surge of feelings she desperately tries to reject, or will she find a way to break free?
Stay tuned...
Here, I pray, is a sonnet he may have written upon his passing on, ironically, his 52nd birthday, April 23rd 1616...
The Bard Bequeaths
'Twas two and fifty years of mortal worth,
This twenty third of April owned thy fate.
Thy soul commence and hence departs this earth
In midst of spring as summer's passions wait.
Those passions drip from quill like dagger's tears,
The blood of inspiration spake and writ,
Like life itself, upon the stage appears
Until, at last, a poison potion sipped.
Though ne'er a day begets where peace doth dwell
There, hidden in the chaos is reward.
Though, like the Queen of Scots, there was no knell,
Thou tarry not, before the henchman's sword.
Mine heart doth pray that thou hath left behind,
Conception's want that cannot be confined.
I always had this fascination with the English language.
Ever since I learned to read and write,
it captivated my interest, beside my own native tongue;
Opening for me a whole new world different from my own -
A world of kingdoms, of princesses and princes, of queens and kings,
of knights in shining armor, of noblemen and the common man,
of many innumerable things.
A child who found such joy in a second language or third
would feel like a traitor to her own when deep nationalism
is rooted in her bones. It was not easy.
And yet the fascination remained – despite being inculcated
with heavy ideas on love for motherland and in the words of Rizal –
“Ang hindi magmahal sa sariling wika,
Ay higit pa ang amoy sa malansang isda”.*
To a child who secretly preferred reading in the foreign tongue,
These words were damning. So much so that in my mind
there was always an ongoing war while growing up
with the king’s language and Rizal.
Looking back, mastering both languages would have been a lot easier
had somebody told me: “Go ahead, do what makes you happy,
as long as you do not forget your identity.
Be proud of the color of your skin.
You can be unique and world class at the same time,
there is no need to feel guilt, find your own rhyme.”
And so today, I tell the youth who have their own native tongue:
Enjoy the journey, but do not forget you are a child of your land
while you discover many things, using the language of kings.
Dr. Jose Rizal – Philippine National Hero, who ironically have mastered different languages including Greek, Latin, Hebrew ,Sanskrit, German, French, Italian among others, aside from Spanish and the now commonly used English language
* "Anyone who does not love his own language
is worse than the smell of a rotting fish."
26 July 2015
The Doesn't Fit Contest
Sponsor: Carol Eastman
Around the corner (20141010)
What’s around the corner?
What’s just beyond our view,
For the soldier and the foreigner,
What’s ahead for me and you?
Two terribly tired turtles
Which wearily weathered wars,
Survived cyclical separations,
Regretfully raised rebellious rascals.
Seemingly securely safe-shelled,
Ironically intently imagining inside
Future failures, follies, fallouts
Won’t waste, wreck, wipe-out their world.
Keeping cool. Keeping calm. Keep continuing!
Blindly burroughing. Blindly blustering, believing
Learning lingers, life lingers, love lingers.
For the soldier and the foreigner,
What’s ahead for me and you?
What’s around the corner?
What’s just beyond our view?
Headed home from a business trip
Tired, spaced out, grouchy and impatient
Pushing the limit to beat rush hour traffic
Fast closing on an old jalopy van
Suddenly blue smoke and debris flying
The back tire must have bounced twenty feet up
My first thought, 'Stay STRAIGHT you bastard!'
Careening violently left, it flipped many times
(Several objects were ejected from the doors)
My next thought...'This is NOT my problem!'
'DAMN!' Slam on the brakes at the last second
Then it hit me. I was the first on the scene...
I would guess it took a full minute to cross over
Cars whizzing and blowing by in both lanes
Obviously it was not their problem either...
(Someone else has stopped, they'll handle it!
Besides, there's a game coming on tonight)
I waved my arms, shouting and pointing…
A woman was lying near the wreckage,
wailing in robotic, shock induced screams
Left arm beneath her back with her right arm
twisted at a bizarre and unnatural angle
One man was thrown at least twenty feet off
Ironically, he seemed the least injured
He kept trying to get up for some reason
I rushed over and asked him to stay down
"Okay, but the baby!...Where is the baby?"
(A baby, you mean there's a BABY??)
"Yes, our BABY...Please go find our baby!"
(Oh no dear God please, no, NO)
The median was a wide, steep-banked grassy ditch
The van was tilted slightly sideways on its roof
Legs rubbery and trembling, stomach churning,
sweat streaming and stinging blurry eyes,
I staggered over to the wreckage, knelt down
and peered through the passenger side window
Empty… (Oh no dear God please, no, NO)
Stumbling around back and then alongside,
scanning the grass and then around front
I almost tripped over it. There he was
Maybe five feet from the bumper he sat upright
still tucked safely away in his baby seat
kicking and cooing, giggling and drooling,
obviously having a wonderful time
I collapsed to my knees, bowed my head down
and feverishly began to unbuckle him
but quickly thought better, fearing unseen injury
Instead, I took his head gently with both hands,
kissed his forehead and nuzzled against his neck
(Babies have that particular scent, you know)
I recall glancing upward to clear blue skies,
muttering and mumbling incoherent thanks...
Wiping the cold sweat off my forehead
Standing beside the dying king’s bed
Thinking of a remedy while a sword
Was pointed to my shivering neck
I was praying not to fail, I begged the lord
But how can I heal a man this old and sick?
The tension was in the air
Combined with stressing anticipation
Their eyes angrily at me did stare
Expecting me to bring him salvation!
“If he dies, you die”, said the guard
“So you better do your best”, he went on
But what to do for an old dying heart?
A heart of a tyrant that’s black and dun
A tyrant who ruled us with injustice and suppression
Who made us live years of starvation and depression
How disgraced I am to be his royal physician!
I’ve been praying to god for forgiveness and remission
A tyrant who did everything to keep the crown
And killed so many to save his throne and rod
Who made horror in every city and town
So nobody could to him object nor stood
(He did all that to have authority and wealth
But ironically he didn’t know how to keep heath
He thought that he’d live and enjoy them forever
Well, on that he doesn’t seem very clever!)
But this Dark Age is finally to end
The revolution started to rise
I may do what I didn’t tend
And I’m not sure if it’ll be so wise
But at least it will be fair
The revolution heat is everywhere
So Apologizes to Hippocrates's oath
(I think he’d forgive me, if he knew the cause!)
He’d think it’s not a deed that’s moral
But these values are merely oral
And didn’t stop poverty nor hunger
The people became full of hate and anger
That their king ran over them with his horse
And enslaved them with his vicious soldiers
That he didn’t once hesitate to use force
The people became martyrs by royal orders!
“Come on, be quick” nervously the guard said
I started to search for some death in my bag
Then I spoke: okay, you can call the maid
He went to bring her and they both came back
On my way out I said: give him this three times a day
And his majesty must in his bed lie
(He won’t suffer much anyway,
Because in two days time
He shall die!)
While attending a social do
You meet and greet others
It’s more a social norm
Than any ‘real’ connect
As you attend to calls
Or get yourself updated with ‘Updates’
Or simply fiddle with your phone
And mind you
You are not alone
Almost everyone is doing the same
Some listless bites of conversation
While chomping on the fare
And it’s time to take leave
But ironically
The same social do
Which you had so perfunctorily attended
Finds the pride of place
On social sites
And horror of horrors
You too find yourself
Engaged in mindless chatter
With the very same crowd
You didn’t much involve yourself with
Just a couple of hours before
In that crowded venue
The story is the same
Whether you are with friends, family or neighbours
The present moments are sacrificed
With ‘smart’ phones smartly severing you
From your surroundings
Ironically when face to face
No one has much to say
But there’s frenzied socialization
Every day
In the ‘virtual’ world
Leading to tch, tch
A 24/7 disconnect in the ‘real’ world.
When truly embracing life, one must
also embrace the mortal chain of death
as friends and family continue passing
in harmony with the earthly seasons,
in quiet tune with celestial movement.
What being in profound contemplation
when dealing with melancholia,
ever lived their life without flirting
briefly with the thought of suicide;
the persuasion of drink compounded?
The joys of life intermingle with sorrow
in a stage of life when Time ironically
becomes an enemy as well as a friend,
when one endeavors to share wisdom
that may be unappreciated and rejected.
The sudden glint off the wing of a
passing silver bird with many souls,
recalls to mind the madness that still
dwells in corners of dark and light,
of years gained, yet lost in flight.
© 2012 Connie Marcum Wong
Synchronicity woven by fate’s volatile hands
Gave rise to calamity in deceptive, calm skies
Creating tragedy so harsh that reason defies
Into a nation’s sad heart, a mortal arrow lands
"Hear ye, teachers," the benign invitation had been sent
Demonstrate the right stuff, be the first launched into space
Compete they did earnestly for this distinguished place
To young mother Christa McAuliffe, NASA gave consent
That same day Florida’s governor prepared to launch
His much anticipated U.S. Senate campaign
En route to his first stop in Jacksonville on a state plane
Bob Graham’s speech was well prepared for supporters staunch
From the air, Graham watched as a sudden flash appeared
Souls of seven astronauts dispatched to heaven’s gate
His campaign aborted as circumstance would dictate
And the hopes of a traumatized country disappeared
First teacher in space lost abruptly, never to return
Husband and daughter left behind, forever changed
Profound tributes to a beleaguered space program arranged
Perils of space travel countless mourners would discern
* Written February 1, 2019 for Emile Pinet's Enclosed Rhyme Contest.
* On January 28, 1986, the Space Shuttle Challenger exploded just seconds after launch from Cape Canaveral. Ironically, Florida Governor Graham, accompanied by members of the Capital Press Corps, did not understand what they had seen in the sky until after their plane landed in Jacksonville. The excitement of a campaign launch was quickly dispelled by the depth of the tragedy that claimed the lives of teacher Christa McAuliffe and six other astronauts. His campaign postponed, Graham returned to the state capital to observe a period of national mourning. The last words the astronauts heard from the control tower were, "Throttle Up, Challenger."
Night into the night it's lonely
standing on the edge of "it's only"
looking for that someone to hold me,
could that soul be you.
My hands reaching for angels mythological,
methodical, logical, looking for that miracle,
I'm not cynical, heaven is more than biblical,
This is not my typical, all I want it you.
Falling darkness and I'm crawling,
you're name on my lips and I'm calling,
And you come and rescue me...
Night into the night it's lonely
standing on the edge of "it's only"
looking for that someone to hold me,
Will that soul be you?
You're hands catching broken beautifully,
ironically, comically, glass to a sand of sea.
I'm not invisible, miserable wanting to be free,
This is not my typical, don't let go of me.
I hear singing in the starlight,
I hear you say "baby, it's alright"
I fly into the heaven tonight.
Falling darkness and I'm crawling,
you're name on my lips and I'm calling,
Night into the night I'm not lonely,
here you are, in my heart, to hold me.
We can try to hide it
Most will attempt to push the thoughts down
We’re not naturally virtuous creatures
It’s quite the contrary - we’re monsters deep down
From the savannas we arose
Fighting fiercely to survive
Selfish, instinctive, amoral, and impulsive
Ironically, that's why we’re alive
We were forged in the primordial fires
Evolved, an anxious woman, an aggressive man
For centuries we have deceive ourselves
By saying, it's all part of God's plan
We were thrust into a world
That's far different than our ancestors home
It's a new world of abundance
Where the instinctual beast is losing control
So, we sublimate our behavior
We profess a altruistic loving heart
All the while ignoring
The monster, lurking in the dark
If we can let go of the story
Acknowledge the suffering and pain
There a chance to rise above the instincts
That are causing the most pain
Acknowledge - to live is to suffer
Recognize - conscious awareness is the burden of humanity
Accept the drive within us
Cause that's the truth - and the truth is what sets us free
“We stopped checking for monsters under our bed when we realized they live within us”
The Joker
When I was young and clueless,
If retirement appeared
Somehow upon my radar
I would think it pretty weird.
But if I gave some thought to where
My future self might be,
Most likely it would be a little
Cabin by the sea.
A stroll into a charming town,
My cottage with a view,
A garden and a lot of time
To do the things I’d do.
But life takes unexpected turns
And there’s no magic math
To calculate the ending
As we chart our chosen path.
And as the years unfold we find
The follies of our youth
Seem fictional when they’re compared
To living’s harsher truth.
Ironically, though, in my
Long-time view-free home, I am
Retired, far from seaside
And contented as a clam.
When it comes to poetry and fiction,
The last thing a writer should want to be is a liar.
Ironically, in his quest for the truth, a writer must frequently lie.
Absolute accuracy is not the point in a poetic or fictional landscape.
The most important element is that the writer, himself,
Like the most convincing actor, believes the lie he is telling.
Writing, like life, is in the details.
What really happened is irrelevant.
The truth, as it were, if it were,
Can always be found in the perspective of an observant reader.