Best Stigmatized Poems
A Look Back at Eighteen Months Here-The Show is Over
When your poems reside in a shoe,
like mine,
pounding the pavement to nowhere.
The onset of blisters isn't imagined.
Those blisters take roots,
hindering your motivation
to move-
and to continue to write.
It hurts.
Seeing those poems take residence
in pity.
Sans the
comfort of
leather and lace,
shine and sole,
all of which would have been nice.
But all my eyes see are my poems,
tucked away in worn loafers,
unpolished,
unnoticed.
Not exactly eye candy.
But eyesores ...judging by the lack of views, here.
And undoubtedly my shoes made of synthetics
and sneakers
to the purveyors of good poetry
and good shoeshine.
I look down for good reason,
defacto
and stigmatized,
no contest wins,
no poems ever in the top 100 (new) list,
no scent of roses (or views),
nothing.
Nothing.
An abyss of sublimity,
save for the white bird
that chirps
to nobodies ears.
To wit.
For he who signs up for this site
got a handful of mixed emotions,
confetti less tomorrows,
a begotten rah, rah,
a ladle of spiel,
poems published ...
and in my case alone footnote
that I was a member
sans the shoe shine.
I really have to admit,
writing here,
eighteen months now,
has taken its toe.
I have no one to blame but myself.
Kind Regards,
connie pachecho
4/26/2018
The proprietor of the show has decided to call it quits, citing mental health issues here. The posse of black bears got to me. The guises, pretense, and hate towards me eroded my spirit. Tell her she can play with my insanity but not my spirit. To my readers, I really appreciate your patronage during this journey here even though the crops are bare and the barn fronts a blank stare.
The cows fight with the pigs, and bacon went to waste. One thing I take is the seed in me to aspire elsewhere, which I've already planted at HP under the name Logan Robertson. Thanks again. Wish everybody the best.
Freedom ~ an inked kingdom
of macabre mirrors,
a vermiform lie
veiling the vehement suffering
amidst serpent estuaries,
surging within strangled skin,
as if I am the living sin,
jinxed by the crawling creatures
in the lamented labyrinth
of deceitful dreams,
inhaling venomous vapors
rising from the cursed creeks
that failed to caress
the brittle bones of delirious dawn,
where the nocturnal owl
sits, phasing stellar phantoms
on tattered twigs,
oblivious to the piercing pain I breathe,
as poetry feels like
a somatic hallucination,
a reflection of the phoenix crescent,
a dialect the naive can never comprehend,
the voice of truth,
the jaded outline of mortality,
can never interpret~
as the last sacred light of twilight
r e m a i n s
unmarked and lost to the Earth.
O wicked wind beneath
the crestfallen wings
of cruising constellations,
will this piece of paper save me
from the maleficent violets
in the spitfire blaze
of stigmatized stars?
I am stuck ~ hell-bound,
troubled placing my
tongue on Freyja’s chalice of tears,
for I feel oblivion closer than death,
I taste the flames of Tartarus,
I dance with demons,
I sing to the malevolent moon,
I see in distorted dimensions.
But would the ignorant know
I hear beyond what’s spoken,
in search of Eden and love?
I give gratitude to your God,
but the veiled care not~
this is beyond the making
of a self-forged inferno.
I am the harbinger of harmony,
my soul aches
to paint your scarlet spheres
in butterfly bliss,
praying in secret
that the deviant daggers in my spine
would blossom into russet roses,
their petals ~ like an elixir
to my paranoid psyche,
paralyzed in the
catacomb chaos of insanity,
as the scorpion Sun
k i s s e s
me one more time
with sweetened poison.
While you,
the spectators of this twisted spectacle,
condemn my insomniac aura
to stain the essence of my existence
with condescending colors,
unaware that
introspection is a powerful weapon~
all blood is blue,
and we breathe hypocrisy
scrutinizing the unknown....
The skin you wear is a veil
a traitor, a liar, an impostor
below it you are nothing but red meat
Humans be not so proud
The skin you wear is a veil
It makes you proud and happy
below it you are nothing but red blood
Humans be not so proud
The skin you wear is a veil
a simple paint to tell many stories
below it you are nothing but skeletons
Humans be not so proud
The proud, the stigmatized think again
The skin you wear is a great impostor
How do I explain
That my emotions are painful
That happiness is euphoria
That anger is blinded rage
That love borders obsession
How do I explain
That my emotions are my enemy
That sadness is suicidal thoughts
That pain is an agonizing fire that consumes me
That emotions are a hurricane
That merged with a tornado and tear away at my body from the inside out
And eventually, reach the people around me
How do I explain
That my actions aren’t always under my control
That the only thing I can feel
Without wanting to break
Is the pain of my own doing
How do I explain
That everyone leaves when I break
Because if you’re in my vicinity
And don’t head my warnings to leave me alone
I lash out with hurtful words and actions
That’ll hurt and break you down
Only for me to regret them soon after
And take it all out on myself
How do I explain
That being alone when I don’t want to be
Turns into an intense battle
A vicious war with myself
To not break and lash out at the ones I love
And to instead remember to stop and breathe
To process reality rationally
How do I explain
That I can’t do things like everyone else
That the simplest task
Become a life or death situation
That it makes me want to scream
How do I explain
That my mind is broken
And I hope you don’t leave
Because the monsters in me are terrible
And I’m still learning to control them
How do I explain
That I fear the love I’m shown
Even though I crave it
That part of me trusts the people close to me
And another part can’t believe a word they tell me
Tell me how do I explain
The mind that is ruled by different personalities
That all feel the pain of a single disorder
That’s so stigmatized by the world
How do I explain
Borderline Personality Disorder
Can you see the sadness behind my eyes?
would you be able to feel my pain?
think how it`s feel like
to be by yourself and frightened
they left me like I am nothing
no mother, no father, no one to care for me
no one to raise me or teach me how to be human
with no parents to refrain
The whole world was: too cold, too big and too cruel.
no house or bed to go back to every night,
I lie awake every night, alone under the bridge,
hungry like a Wolf.
overcome with panic, pain, and desperation
migraine that made my whole body throbs
developing a contaminated and stigmatized identity
I was a tender ember seeking solace from above...
I remember the pain I felt and wonder why
when my human needs were ignored, rejected and invalidated
living in a nightmare in the darkness of my soul.
tries to cry out for help, but soon learns that no one will listen
carries my denial like precious cargo without a port of destination.
Inside, my soul became so cold I hated everything and everyone
forced to alienate myself from reality and own experience
I wasn’t given permission to be my own person
It’s hard for me to admit that inside I feel a really lonely person.
It is so degrading and I try to forget, it hurts so much because they are my parents.
I suddenly realized that my lifelong search for love
and acceptance had finally ended in the arms of a foster parents and Roman Catholic Church.
I am a survivor because every day I make a choice
not to be governed by their harsh words or actions.
Hiding my pain and acting strong, afraid to cry and show my tears,
I struggle with all this years later.”
The memories flood back, still so many years to go
hopping growing up will bring escape and freedom.
Thanks to my
foster parents and Roman Catholic Church
I am a creative man who is motivated by the desire to achieve, not by the desire to beat others.
As we see of a day unforgettable
Of a great betrayal,
As we were mired in a misadventure
We saw the mirthless smiles of that great betrayal
We, the givers of great positions
Through the mire our names were dragged.
Like a minx they were to us,
But we are minions who do as told
Our wrinkled smiles were like that of a stigmatized minger
Milk-sop we were called;
A milkweed would be preferred to us
Could this a mid life crisis be? NO!!
A long life crisis I should say
Cause a middle ground we can't find
Dejection was our intimate friend.
The only help we could get was
A foul microdermabrasion which made
Our lives a formless formidable LATRINE.
Deep in a hole, no more an abyss.
Searching for light, or source of escape
Knowing neither, why or how
I buried myself, deep under ground
Suffering for weeks, Absent of Joy
Bed inescapable, a fortress of hell.
Stress constantly crushing, onto chest:
Like a steel anvil, heavy with anger
they mock me, quiet, distant,
happy, even ecstatic facial gestures.
The condition isn't physical, So:
He must be, "just be lazy!"
Is Escape Possible, when your mind is prison?
No diagnostic test, accurate enough exist,
Cause unclear, lacking visible trauma,
No damage, Specialist Labeled, "Hypochondriac"
The 21st Century, Modern and Advanced:
Mental illness, stigmatized still?
If you want to feel better, Then:
"Use some Will, JESUS!"
Twenty two days, three hours sleep.
Ten days later, awake just two.
Attempt again, to will my function....
Still, Constant , Feeling won't change....
"Manic Depressive,a Frustrating Myth"
Hendrix mentally anguished, Architect of self demise.
Condition Labeled new, Politically Correct.
Wishing once, they lived, briefly, in this brain.
Willing a change, Still suffering the same,
Imagine a Second, daily, praying for change.
three Attempts failed, at medicating me sane
Wishing the cure, simple-minded as your advice:
"Try Harder"
In the funky train,
All the hoo-ha-noisy end in fisticuff;
As the crumpled greenback hand-out cough,
The law has nothing to handcuff,
Maneuvering on the sloppy storey hill
A frantic dance of dead-drunk crazy masquerade;
Man-handling the dare-devil by weary drenched soaked in
talisman man,
Springs from a ream hole in the floor
Hand-shuffling on long iron pole gear,
Wrestling with reckless white knuckles of steering wheel;
A nipple for torch-light knob looking tough headlamps,
A bare-face speedometer, a mare decor;
Rear is bare, except fanning out putrid fart in
defecating vulva;
And a pumping brake failure refused to catch,
Disaster looms down a glitch away,
Marijuana induced braggarts, bang at the battered dent
body;
All acted in the climatic anti-climax role in the tragic
play,
As horn and side mirrors, villains make do,
Ghastly farewell garland to stranded passengers on
departure;
Welcome to hellish shore of grimacing dismember carcasses,
From the extinct scratched my backside please dense
Bolekaja view,
Stigmatized masses muck arranged tight,
File in wooden slavery mule;
And the pompous promise land looks a light years away,
Now on the garish cold rusted cut steel,
Buttocks crammed on planks for seats;
Knees folded to gangrene stroke roost,
Pillaged and pilloried, rasped and gasped for a slice bread
of life,
Staled sweats seeped and poured decayed stench on forms;
***** squeezed queued on narrow alley,
Romancing buttocks swell sips to bursting through;
And the lushing rhythmic beating drum
Re-enters lock and brake,
Dilepa dilepa dilepa duro nube o!
Omokunrin kan ti daran nube o!
Ofowo kanmi loyan me solo!
ofowo kanmi nidi me solo!
Toku toku lona nkan boyi o!
Komo ipe kolokolo lahere wa!
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/
Oh dear crazy eyes
Why are you soaked all night?
You keep going back and forth
Not sleeping through the light
What is the matter?
Oh dear crazy eyes
You look happy watching the skies
Then suddenly tense and stigmatized
I truly fail to understand
What’s your story, crazy eyes?
You seem to have fallen deeply
Into a pit of love-stained graffiti
You stare at the walls
Thinking someone will rescue you
You don’t know the pain that will crawl
From your haunted vision
To your aching, yearning heart
You will slowly become your own insanity
Trapped in an ocean of agony
Oh dear crazy eyes
I am giving you one last piece of advice
Why do you keep attaching yourself
Even when you know the truth?
To a world that will vanish soon
Even if you gather everything
It will still slip from your fists
So please
Save yourself from this grief
Oh dear crazy eyes
He was turbulent, fearful, and a dipsomaniac. He was dead to the target, undeniable emulation of his father. So I've been told.
Equated with many of his uneducated and socially stigmatized peers, starting at an early age he worked menial jobs until he married and asserted himself to a position on a cargo ship as a Merchant Seaman. So I've been told.
He traveled the world and had many long tales to share. Tales when spread made him a hero of many causes, and these inflated tales rein the peninsula and many compared him with John Henry and Jack Johnson. So I've been told.
He was a tall sepia man with a handsome face that was divinely chiseled to the image of Hermes. So I've been told.
He was a courageous bull that suffered his demise at the hands of his enemy. So I've been told.
He was a vigorous bear with broad shoulders that expanded forever like the Baeke plateau and was a comforting pillow for my weary head.
His legs when stretched out from a sitting position was a nuisance, a tripping device for a young child whose vision was aimed high when walking by.
He smelled of stale tobacco and Old Spice.
His tatami cheeks pricked fingers to the touch with delightful pain.
His long fingers with soil underneath its horny protective covering could move swiftly over finger plates of a saxophone or skillfully up and down the fretted neck of a guitar if he, so willed. Yet he titillated my ribs, under my arms and the soles of my feet.
His voice vociferated like thunder at his adversaries and changed to an astonishing softer degree when he called my name. This I know and so you are now being told.
copyright Labyrinth of Life
For greener pastures
He quests the no man's land.
Unknown to him, Goodies splatter
at his bosom...
His abode,
A village where olds
are stigmatized:
Witches and Wizards.
To be old is a sin.
Deep into the Night
He exits to defecate
the spirit of the darkness:
thick and wild.
birds squeal, ants whistle.
Evils are deed of the night.
Daylight, innocence rbeads
on every face... he perceives.
He feared more evils
Dreams and screams to life
Leaves him to wonder...
Soon he will leave
So, he thinks always
River at the village extreme
Domestics, works and life depend
Behold she appears
Black ebony and beautiful
The mermaid (Iyemoja);
the river goddess beckons
half human
Half fish
Alas! he turns back
fly the calabash away
and take to his heels
indeed, he halucinates
He feared more evils
Dreams and screams to life
Leaves him to wonder
Soon he will leave
So, he thinks always
The voice of the spirit calls:
Sojourner to no man's land
Reasearch and discover the goodies
at home
For,
if you sojourn for years
one day you return home
If the goats seek survival at daylight
at dawn it returns home
Heed the words of the elders
Remember.
20.12.2007
A DOLL'S CONFESSION
I am a doll -
A doll from your corner
You used to love me
And you used to care
Now you've grown old -
All good times are over
But to say I'm lonely
Would still be unfair
I have hot tears to keep me company
My face - stigmatized
- A motionless smile!
I've prayed for so long...
Yes, it may seem funny -
A doll praying that
G*d would let her cry...
In a time of panic,when the world battled a pandemic,
He was a migrant,kicked by nasty tyrants.
Days of thirst,Months of famine;
Shattered dreams,isolation and quarantine,
The lock down had made him quite confined.
His hardships began when they had to wait in line,
For insipid food and shelter that never saw the sun shine.
Sleepless nights ,anxiety and unpaid labor,
Little did he remember the last good meal he devoured.
Away from his home,away from her;
An ordinary beauty,it was her love that had him captured.
Perfectly imperfect,her skin with patches of white,
She erased his struggles giving a life so bright.
With unconditional love; she held his finger,
They had a baby ,whose smile was enchanting as ever.
He awaited the journey,the journey back home,
His hopes went vain,as lack of money made him groan.
With a group he wandered,they craved for water,
Migrants! echoed some voices;
The voices that once gave errands, now sprayed disinfectants.
Wading past grimacing looks,
The migrants were never in good books,
Portrayed as the forbidden and the stigmatized,
Termed nefarious;their unhygienic looks had us traumatized.
Nevertheless ,the truth is always bitter,for they never even get time for a banter,
They clear all our litter;build wonders from clutter,
They always remain unsafe as we stay home and be safe!!
Our oath is our soul keeping
our joys are from smoking and drinking,
from the cannabis we cultivate a seeing
a laughter from the suffering
a tear for the living memory
from the raw uncut winery
We feel the flesh more keenly,
our trophies include skull cap revelry
imbibing the blessings of the enemy
from the roof of their mind's sanctuary
a treasure merrily grisly,
the scalps of our competitors a salary
making for cloak and horse bridle history,
from the trauma we make victory,
From the trauma we make victory
we showed the world how to whip and ride
how to love liberty,
paper and stone do not decide
the way in which we remedy
iniquity, only in Truth do we confide,
as our kin conquered steadily
from Kushan to Hispania's Atlantic tide,
Rome relinquishing the keys to Destiny
from Atilla to Theodoric's tribe,
the nomadic warriors and traders remained free,
Visigoths vanished as their independence atrophied
the Ostrogoths succumbed to sedentary treachery,
our songs remain sung strongly,
Our songs remain sung strongly,
as Christ was cruxified
for crucibles carried by the Family
we gave sanctuary to many a preacher stigmatized,
Toaists tasted the terror of our primal domain
Buddhists bathed in butterflys' blood
as the Jews jumped on the caravan coin,
Hindus knew Indra lived in the Aryan Hood
while the Nestorians never questioned our sin
and the shamans ate the shame of life,
Mohammad's ginger genetics made him kin
and his Jihad made us grin at the strife
his armies hired us and paid better than the Byzantine,
sometimes faith lives on the edge of a knife,
J.A.B. 2020