Best Retarded Poems
Retired but not retarded
Sure like to make that distinction
One doesn't necessarily follow the other
Though many have that opinion
Sent out to pasture, some say
Another that's very often used
Please try not to be so condescending
Clearly I'm not really amused
As useless as a little tit bird
Have you ever heard this one before
Begging you to be gentle with this old fart
Sensitive but with charm galore
You're also going to get there one day
So your smugness will soon disappear
As they help you into your wheelchair and ask
“Are you comfortable, my dear?”
© Jack Ellison 2014
My mind is void and compelled by echoes vibrating space between amidst and within boundaries of walls keeping what's out from in and what's in is imprisoned by liberties bell ringing again. Decieved into freedom by liberating powers taking power again. Independent from what is mysterious as the loose nut rattling my head. Incurable is my reapers blessing who cursed me with mental flexing. Thin is my spirit and thick is my soul. Injuries of blunt force trauma are as our humanitarian as our selfish drama dividing our country by feeding medias bread. Head hurts from causations pinched nerve and its audacity to be as hell bent as mankind on earth.
Who can cure what is incurable as our sin our inability to give without principle and reverence for humility. Faces are rattle tales and eyes never fail. Hearts beat life as well as spirit but brain directs the symphonies Chaotic sound uniting all organs of the body in heavenly bounds. No pill for tbi and no pill for elitist lies. Time either heals or proves that tale tail sign that without truth prayer and faith survival is in vain as I ignorantly bliss but insane.
I am so retarded in the area of sports. Sometimes it really does get me down.
It's so embarrassing not to know anything at all
about how to play ball,
and please don't think of me as a clown
but,
What excactly does a baseball player have to do
in order to
score themselves a touchdown?
To find someone cruel or who’s lacking in sense,
The use of “retarded” is good evidence.
It’s always a put-down, it’s mean and it’s low
And aimed most at those who are not in the know.
The person who’d utter this word with contempt
Mistakenly thinks from its barb he’s exempt.
We can’t help our looks or our size or our brain
But we choose our words, which can cause someone pain.
“Retarded” can get my blood boiling, but
I look at its user and keep my mouth shut.
Do you know how I feel right now?
My heart is finally free from all those ties that broke my soul apart.
As, my soul has finally learned not to yearn for love.
It has learnt to let the leashes free and not surrender to untamed emotions.
As it swirls around the whirlpool and twists along with the time wave,
I have realized that it's better to keep myself restrained with temporary people for permanent progress.
Because my mind has been able to finally see through those unspoken thoughts and unexplained looks.
As I turn around and see myself,
I see people wrap me around in an unquestionable array of thoughts.
A wannabe piece I am.
Who has too much time to spare and yet sit in despair.
Clinging close, wanting that warmth and care.
Oh I never liked being like that.
Marathons that I have run made me choose to succumb.
With no time to spare, loneliness filled the air.
Oh I was a useful connection not a close one.
Success?
Oh, it never brought a smile.
Free as I could fly on a deserted island.
Smiles and laughter kept echoing through the walls.
Change, I did.
For all the time that slid.
All I wanted was to feel as one.
Singing rhythms of cries in unison as time still sliding along the waves.
In this game of love and war,
war seemed to be more fair.
Books were more faithful than people I say.
Lonely it was but I still anchored the ship in a way.
Room for many but none in call.
For times I wanted to lean in for once and all.
Oh they are growing buddy, still they are.
Your soul yearns for warmth, but you’re still at the start.
With love that you wanted, you failed to run the race.
They have reached midway but you’ve still not begun the game.
So what?
Time is flowing forward unheeding my call.
But yet there are tunes unsung and coins unflipped.
The Road to be taken is yet under my shoes.