Best Psychologist Poems
Limerick: Once a pretty Pole psychologist
for Ewa
Once a pretty Pole psychologist
Who preferred fast pedalling cyclist(s)
Kept a velo d’apparte*
And a Tour de France dart
Found trundling Bone-Shaker* merry twist.
• Velo d’apparte(ment) = exercise bike
• Bone-Shaker = first French bicycle, invented and manufactured by Michaux during the 1860s, whose framework was made of wrought iron and whose wooden wheels were bounded by iron tires.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
I got him at university when I was nineteen:
Too late for me and my anger, but he was spritely;
It was after I'd initially objectified things myself,
By writing a computer program that reacted intelligently.
I should have been entitled to write it at school,
Where my anger was my extra disability,
But I was kept off the systems 'cos of fear,
That I didn't have enough hand dexterity.
My anger was just against fundamentalism,
Christian, and occasionally Islamic as well;
My family was Christian but weighed god as great,
Such that sometimes all I did was my life hate.
Express your anger when you can,
Demand to be met by a psychologist,
Make those around you understand,
You're entitlement to with peace land.
First chapter:
She gently sooths my soul with a quixotic grasp
Yet she’s a ruthless (use imagination)
Her emotions unstable like pitches in opera
She teases touching and leaving like breezes
Love works like God…in mysteries
2nd chapter:
I read faultless poems by my elder poets
My heart temper tantrums from elaborate adjectives use to describe her
My eyes bleed, squinting wishing they never laid pupils on these poems
Final chapter:
Reading poems of confusion from elders
Poems based of melancholic love tragedies
Passion filled tragic that plagues me in an immature form
How naïve to believe that adults would’ve figured her out
My peripheral vision fights over the red X button and the next poem button
The X button wins.
No one can figure out the depths of love.
Thanks for nothing.
Love and peace.
The experts were angry at first, but by the time they thought to invite me to the party all three were livid.
Three men were backed up on three walls, bodies crossed, minds set, angry faces, helping not a bit.
I took a deep breath, knowing it would be a hundred times easier if I made them go,
Because I knew it was a man who tormented him, a man who cracked the belt on his body.
Knowing it would not work, wishing someone had thought to come for me thirty minutes earlier.
These experts were determined to handle this child who was now backed into a corner, baring his teeth.
I had never seen him this way, and I had seen him more than any other child in the school.
I asked him what he wanted, and he threw a cup at me. I had to hold my smile in, knowing him.
The angry faces seemed larger, and more threatening now, so I knew they did not get him, like I did.
After dancing, and singing, and trying to whistle, because that is what he asked me to do,
He came to me, put out his hand and we skipped away from the prying eyes of the experts
Who now reminded us both of our tormenters because of silent, angry telltale in and out buttons of their cheeks.
Sometimes it is better to be an amateur forgiver with an open heart, and a sense of humor.
Being an expert is not what it is cracked up to be.
He makes heartbroken people smile again. He sends them home very happy and impressed. Then he goes to his closet deep down in pain. 'Cos nobody noticed he is also depressed