Best Stigmas Poems
Sudden and strangely strong
many shocks flood my body
causing muscles to stiffen
in protest.
Does it hurt?
Sometimes.
My mind drowns itself in
electricity without prior warning
causing a myriad of odd seizures.
Each one different from the
last; no seizure is the same.
My memory is not impaired,
I remember every one and
everything around me,
although speech disappears.
People appear scared, not from me
but from what I have – epilepsy.
Many stigmas float around the
condition, many are as false
as the common school rumour.
Still they are believed like an old
wife’s tale.
Epilepsy?
An unwanted burden,
it limits possibilities,
still I have it and so bare
its unwanted scars.
My life impounded and unfulfilled,
epilepsy is a curse without
any hope of a cure,
it’s only made controllable
by a blend of concoctions created
by textbook intellect.
Still my body and soul remain my own
regardless of how hard it tries
to take control,
I remain confident and strong.
Epilepsy?
Dominant as it may be life must
go on and I must continue to grow
and prosper.
My black is beautiful from head to toe
It's not just the fullness of my lips, or broadness of my nose.
My black is beautiful; it’s not a curse but a gift
It’s more than the texture of my hair, and the span of my hips
My black is beautiful; both inside and out
It defies the odds, erases all doubts
My black is beautiful ; it's strong and its proud
It whispers so powerfully that it screams out loud.
My black is beautiful, it obliterates the stigmas
It's not what you call conceit, its confidence and charisma
My black is beautiful, a flawless creation
It stand on adversity, overpowers degradation
My black is beautiful, spirited and resilient
It’s phenomenal, significant, and astonishingly brilliant
My black is beautiful; it’s the embodiment of faith
Its hope, and its grandeur, its glory and grace
My black is beautiful, although seldom seen
It’s the crown that adorns the heads of true kings and queens
Do raindrops know
when dandelions cry
flowing flaxen feelings
like honeysuckle hues
cuddling a marigold morning
Will weeping willows wake
parched parades of poppies
silted by searing seasons
stigmas of seedless seduction
shadowed by stormy sunsets
Can rainbows of renaissance
twist tulip tongues
so stamens of wilted whispers
oscillate osmotic overtures
of pistil pardon
Do thundering trumpets
mourn misty meadows
when dandelions cry
tides of tawny tears
widowed in floating fields of life
“A wound gets worse when it’s treated with neglect.” – Stevie Nicks
My heart aches,
like the sun aches for the moon,
but stalling became my shackle,
knowing an evolution was never
on the horizon;
wandering stark habitats—
paradoxically, a devoted outcast
tangled in neglect;
I lay isolated soothing my soul,
mending the wounds
I didn’t leave behind.
Truth is, love is a foreign oasis—
thrust into silence—
spiritually battered and bruised,
consuming the deplorable ruins
of those with sinister stigmas
attached to their very core—
void of fading humanity.
Last night's Wim Wenders film Wings of Desire, not starring Adam
Sandler,
great in the great tradition of Metropolis, Fellini, Children of Paradise,
Ikiru, Open City.
This is not comedy though it can be funny overhearing people thinking,
the randomness of thought, data dots, circles with dots, sadness and
silliness,
silly sadness, confusion, rarely a clear thought, not one logical
lucid progression. Deep art.
I'd like to do better than my best so far, write something with
hydroxyapatite
that won't gather dust then become dust a neuron of sweetness,
an early morning bicyclist, a lost ghost or fallen angel
any form from which death might abstain or forego appetite.
Appearing to meander from subject to subject is my practice. Looking
for solutions to the equations. Learning the changes then forgetting
them.
The expressions emanating from mortal minds are broken stamens, sticky
stigmas.
Striving for immortality,
some Spanish philosopher (who looks like Don Quixote)
says he understands and it's alright.
I will read what he wrote and probably agree
but is he immortal? Not his body, but his thoughts.
True, I say, but this also: Not his mind, but his thoughts. Unchanging and
finite. Put them in a hatbox and pass them on as heirlooms.
To overhear the secret thoughts of others. Sharing and unsharing
electrons, disrobing
and bathing. That is the purpose of poetry. Gargoyle twice. Did Wim
give each thought its own voice or use the same voice for all thoughts,
every whim.
Floriography
Allamanda in April slowly open its trumpets around posts that look like
Buttercups of honey for bees to dive in to replenish their striped bellies
Crocus's yellow stigmas that flavour our food are a blessing by Hermes, but
Dead Nettle is hardly so dead with her fuschia coloured flowers on tall stalks
Early Star Of Bethlehem awaits for snow to melt and to be reborn to bless
Freesias that innocently rest atop wedding cakes with their snowy icing buds as
Glory Lily with reflexed pink petals look like a turkish cap in a showstopper
Hyacinth clusters ease tension while boasting off its colourful array of petals
Irises' three petals looking heavenwards and one downwards links us to gods
Jasmine's pristine beauty rests in my bun, leaving a trail of fragrance in morns
Knife Acacia's drooping yellow clusters add beauty to xeriscape landscaping
Larkspur's purple petals are like curtains displaying an open light heart while
Mountain Laurel in translucent white with pink accents are humbled before
Narcissus smiling from above the rockery at its reflected beauty in the pond below
Orchids, rare and royal, flourish in moss and add grandeur to pinned coats
Portulaca overhangs my flower pots on boundary walls in appeasing hues
Queen of nights likens to a creamy lotus on a cactus, blooms but once annually
Red Hot Poker's stand like tall red candies in clusters attracting children
Spring Snowflakes are reversed scalloped white cups dangling with breeze
Teddy dahlias in naughty bonniness wear the brightest sunny hoods
Ursinia fields wave in the spring breeze like floating islands in an orange sea
Virginia Bluebells ring in the spring, chiming in nooks till silenced by the rains
Wake Robin is stemless and sits on leaves with its fetid aroma to attract flies
Xeranthemum is purpled in royalty to favour love and changes its owner's life
Yellow Star of Bethlehem grows wildest in landscapes, yet aspiring to help
Zinnia blossom as space-flower in its debut aboard the NASA space station
April 26, 2016
For Shadow Hamilton
Abecedarian
Can you comprehend the surveillance?
Recognize the Cyclopean that is manipulation
Suffer as fingertips osculate the doll
Your existence in cadence with its animation
Answers painted upon the walls of elucidation
Yet enveloped within a sadistic façade
If only mortification was your apparatus
Feasible would be your liberation
To fracture your damnation of kismet
Your oblivious disposition maintains insurance
Of my authentic ipseity concealment
Penetration of veracity remains abeyant
You confine my chassis to a line
An unhindered, forward faced, entity
Blasphemy, impudence, and your curse
Liquescent, manumitted, and your marquis
Flashbacks of lifetimes past, occurred moments ago
Destiny of a soul, iota of my jest
Your obstinate and averse species
Enslaved to stigmas of my amusement
My merited eponyms you endow to others
Fate, karma, spirit, soul mate, life and death
All components, all puppets in my phenomenon
For I am the Master Puppeteer, I am Time
In Mahayana Buddhism, a bodhisattva is an enlightened person who gives up his personal salvation in order to save all living beings through mercy.
To hear, to ignore the consequences,
to give up everything, to sever ties
with common sense, to go along with senses
which choose the bumpy roads to the skies,
to bare yourself, to strip away enigmas
of body, to expose private parts
of soul and, notwithstanding norms and stigmas,
to answer the last call for lonely hearts.
That’s bodhisattva’s way. It's pretty hard
to answer calls of every lonely heart.
31.10.2019
for contest LAST CALL FOR LONELY HEARTS – COLLABORATION
sponsored by Line Gauthier
amidst the sound and radiance
a colorful sparks of liberty
explode into brilliant cascades
the glow of smoke as if bewitching
brings joy and beauty to its prophet
alas, free yourself and live on
treasure and seize the present day
let them light up one's life
scare those stigmas away
06.13.16
if Rowena's kuzzle was
the center of the Earth
he'd look for a shovel
she was an underpass hooker
exploited by a grim and grimy past
reckless as the day is long
a tourism so shameless
her own union set her on fire
I can't praise them enough
I advised her to talk to her real self
and got 5 blank staring minutes
basically because she didn't have one
only an extremely accurate echo
but she was a rebel and I loved her
kept her head lice population down
just so she could tell me the occasional
bedtime story on an empty stomach
hear now the legend of the Headless Man
once and a long ago
lived a man with no head
one of the many stigmatized gentry
in the long forgotten dairy maid uprising
somehow he could see hear and gesture
even though the neck was a pink nub
but he was hung like a meatloaf
making maidens titter at the village well
sighing rolling their eyes gasping flushed
um where was I
ah he fell in love
with the Bodiless Woman of course
knowing she could be of some use
it's a story of egregious assumptions
a belching sewer of lust and depravity
a juggernaut of rash political ambition
um where was I
ah in the village below
the holy men gathered
around Rowena’s oracle head
they came as the ancient test required
to run barefoot across the fire pit
at Detroit Jimmy's BBQ
the winner was a few inches shorter
from the victory tap dance
a ritual purification of the sense of motion
accompanied by stigmas and signs of wonder
Detroit Jimmy married Nub and Rowena
in a cabbage patch ceremony under the stars
wicked little boy went Row
on their wedding night mud bath
work me like your first bag of fries
went Nub in all humility
and they rode upstate in his Rocket 88
the road spreading gently
like a great pastry
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Powerful words,
Truthful words,
Honest words,
Brave words;
This is exactly what the Doctor orders,
For a nation, who's trying to fight the horrors
Of blatant racism,
Unfairness, injustice,
Nepotism and sexism.
A man of Peace,
Without controversies,
Is not a genuine activist.
The truth is being tolled; there is no reason to apologize,
‘Cause you're exercising your God-given rights.
The sickness, the maladies,
Which America has been suffering
For over five centuries,
Need to be healed as you're reading
My honest feelings.
This is painful, this is long overdue.
My brave People are tired of fighting
The ills and the stigmas of our societies.
This is hurtful, this is way overdue.
The Truth hurts, thank God Almighty;
"Another One" is unafraid to tell the Truth,
"This One" is dissecting the false myth,
And the backward ideologies, thank God Almighty!
The prisons are populated by innumerable innocents,
The Police and their cronies randomly humiliate
Our parents, siblings and cousins.
We have every reason to be mad and irate.
A more just and fair system needs to be in place now.
The Brother is using strong medicine right now:
Powerful words,
Truthful words,
Honest words,
Brave words,
To save America,
The beautiful diva,
Who stands for: "Justice, Freedom,
Liberty and Happiness for All."
We should denounce Uncle Tom
And his monkeys. Brothers, who walk tall
Like you and our President,
Are rare and almost nonexistent.
The Truth will always set free:
The men of Justice, the men of integrity,
The men of Peace, the men of honesty;
The Brothers and Sisters who will tirelessly
Fight racism, the twin-brother of slavery.
P.S. This poem is dedicated to all my brothers and sisters.
Copyright © February 19 2009, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
Remember September 11th
Signed legislation, equal access, public schools and mobilized troops.
Supreme Court Justice Warren, controversial some would say, provided a goal of unity,
the removal of stigmas, fair competition, birth of global recognition and a future for the
spirited ambitious, the motivated and the entrepreneurship.
911
Terrorism, tragedy, illnesses, women and men of good deeds, financial wills, heirs , war
and mobilized troops indeed.
A blow to it all, the young, the old, the rich, the poor, the working, the unemployed… the
skilled, the unskilled, our service members and our vets as well as some committee bills,
but mostly the future of America’s youth…. onto a system of restructuring wages and for
some of us enduring exploitation to make up for the loop.
Ranking 27th, Lower five, a time for the nation to realize, status quote can be no more for
the circle is full and it has closed.
The future is your vote like a Clef Sign on the staff and the rest will flow like a great
symphony from the past , yet to be numbered because it’s not the last and the people’s
opera will take the stage…we will restore the two decade old history page.
To participate, to live, to fight for the already established route, come one, join all, rally
and acknowledge your rights.
Copyright@2010by Carrie M. Love-atkins
Their plea was virtually this,
Give us one more chance to live again,
Without frailties and stigmas,
To prove to the world our worth,
To explore this world
Beyond borders of this limitations,
To exhibit our capabilities despite inabilities,
Chance of immune equality,
To produce more Einstein the world never had,
Where we are void of isolation and prejudice,
And we are not forgotten like yesterday's newspaper,
A chance where no wooden structure is needed to support this bony posture,
Where every limb is filled with potency,
A chance we would not be hidden as antiquities,
When our social esteem becomes our self-motivation,
Keeping us at the apex of opportunity,
Oh! Give us this one chance to live again,
The gods must be listening.
In my pursuit of knowledge, I will define my destiny
Shedding the insulting notions that so many others have conceived
And remove the cloaks, which you have draped over me
In my pursuit of awareness, i will seek my true identity
Become things far greater than what the mortal eyes can see
The embodiment of courage, derived from my ancestry
In my pursuit of understanding I proudly pave my own path
I extinguish adversities, smothering its wrath
Navigating the obstacles that you erected my past
In my pursuit of wisdom, I remove the stain filled stigmas
Maneuvering the years of oppression, resolving the enigmas
My history empowers my pride, it doesn't interpret my dilemma
In my pursuit of perception, I defy the statistics
Fist clinched, pounding in the air, to shatter their ignorance
I battle unawareness with wisdom, the most profound form of vengeance
In my pursuit of insight, I seek to discover my origin
Retracing my roots back to the Motherland.
Dreaming of the home that I’ve never known, from which I descend
In my pursuit for consciousness, I right the wrongs of a painful legacy
I will rise from the remnants of your subjugation, bold and victoriously
Unscarred and unmarred I will stand triumphantly
In my pursuit of me
Everyday, to God I pray
For answers to Life's enigmas
Patience lays in wait to stay-
To cleanse our Social Stigmas
We pass the time in our idle Dreams:
Like fallen Stars in singing streams