Best Uncared For Poems
Brothers killing brothers......a field of blood
sisters slaying sisters.......instead of bearing sons.
mothers ,daughters..fathers, sons
all dead and gone, kindred spirits slaughtered one by one
by the hand of those each should love.
I wonder if at the last moment they had second thoughts
Is this the way to go ..isn't there a better way?
Perhaps dialogue or patience would have been better
Less lives could have been lost ..less regrets to bear.....more hearts could have
been won.
Yet the war continues unabated..send in more troops is what we say.
Isn't there another way?
Too many orphans left.. ..uncared for and grieving
too many tears have been shed.... hearts harden.
Prisoners of war......wounded and shell shocked veterans....... physically
handicapped....mentally deranged....a terrible plight
both sides share the same fate....pain and sadness is all that's left
no one wins yet the war never ends.
Love's now a thing of the past
only anger and hatred remain
When, oh when will Peace prevail.
Categories:
uncared for, sad, war, war,
Form:
Free verse
Laying on a dark street corner
the flames of a makeshift fire
the only sign of light
and a frugal attempt at warmth,
on a cold winter’s night
lost in thought,
or so it seems
confused and helpless...
stuck in a time zone,
unfairly treated
unnoticed
uncared-for
all alone
tattered clothes
a testimony of neglect
it’s merely an illusion...
look a little closer
at the laughing lines,
look a little closer
at the sparkle in his eyes...
there is no fear
a hidden smile perhaps
as he struggles for a breath of air,
last words uttered…
“I am ready... He is waiting”
the words of a homeless man
on his final destination...
Categories:
uncared for,
Form:
Free verse
I cannot get into heaven
God I have tried!
Suicide is a double edge sword
Especially when you survive!
Walking the streets at night
Dazed and confused
Longing to be loved
Wondering...
When is Mum, coming for me?
"Does she still love me?"
"Does she still care?"
"Does she still think of me?"
"Does she wonder, where I am?"
I want her to come find me
I want her to say she 'loves me’
I want her to comfort me
I want her to take me home
And keep me safe
And not forget hat I exist
Like the way she treats me now
I wish God
Could make my Mum
Magically appear
Making this hellish nightmare
On the street
Disappear!
“Send my Mum please!”
So, all this can end!
Before this last ray of hope
Diminishes for good!
I don’t want to become
The walking dead
Forever forgotten as if
I was never born!
For this is the cruel, harsh reality
Of living life, feeling unloved
Uncared for, abandoned,
Left to fend for my own
A dangerous killer inside me
Eating away, at my soul
Something, no one can see
As I suffer in silence
My insides crippling!
Lost, alone and frightened
Weeping on a dirty
Graffiti park bench
Dirty tears
Rolling down my cheeks
Stuffing newspapers under my jumper
To keep myself warm
“What am I going to do?”
“Will I make it through the night?”
“Will I get raped and beaten?”
"Will I be left for dead?”
“Will I survive
To see another day?
“Is my life worth living?”
Please God, I beg of you
Have mercy now
Please show me the way!
Categories:
uncared for, angst, childhood, confusion, dark,
Form:
Free verse
Mother Teresa, I salute thee!
Thou art,a pious soul and
Indeed God's chosen messenger
and harbinger of hope to millions
of suffering downtrodden -
destitute women,orphaned children
Sick men and women and lepers
whom the society hated to see even;
The gentle touch of thine hands
healed their sufferings and gave them
A ray of hope to live and self-assurance;
And indeed you've performed miracles
Which the Pope has recognized, and of
which in your noble life time
You never even spoke or mentioned
And that speak volumes of your humility;
And you lived a glorious life of selfless service
To the uncared for poor and innocent humans
And I look forward to the day
The great church of God bestows
Sainthood on thee so that the world
would soon remember thee as Saint Theresa
God's chosen soul and saint of the twentieth century
I salute thee Mother Teresa!
Categories:
uncared for, prayer,
Form:
Free verse
A love as pure as light, a knife that cuts through any barrier. As sweet as candy floss, light and delicate they might say. A warm burning fire, consumed by repeating faith. What might they say would be wrong?
The deeper the love is, the closer your heart is to exploitation of vulnerability. The sweet love that turns into the bitter cruelty. The warmest day that turns into the coldest night in winter. The extreme cancelling itself out, as if it never happened.
A dove giving its own pure heart to an eagle whom never felt anything as strong as love. Purely mistaken by the fact that to love others you need to have love. A feeling felt for the first time causes chaos and greediness. Leaving the heart of the dove stolen and uncared for.
Maintaining the love felt cannot be done by the dove whom searches the empty part for what has been stolen, and a love dies in the greatest depths it has been made and felt in.
The greatest love, the greatest suffering.
-Lonely Strangers
Categories:
uncared for, bird, creation, deep, depression,
Form:
Free verse
The young Kumar’s wife dancing bright,
Offering to all exciting pleasant sight.
Making her waist into the vivacious folds,
Throwing the eye glances to the folks.
Her neap tide vest and spring tide bosom,
Unruly, swelling, her case cannot fathom.
Clicking in each step of her movements,
Opening up websites for entertainments.
Kumar’s mind troubled by whirlpools,
Maybe a dandy love-lorn in her pulls?
Leaving his children sleeping uncared for,
Kumar gets busy to spy for wife’s pinafore.
Desdemona remains still erotic but chaste,
Why is there no change in Othello’s haste?
What if messy Iago one scarf steals?
Is there a dirth of scarves in Malls still?
********
** Kumar is an Indian first name and also used as suffix to a name**
============================
**A Repost.. originally posted on 24-7-2005
Categories:
uncared for, life,
Form:
Free verse
Neglected and forlorn
like the parent uncared for
left to the ravages of time
the great pyramids of Khuf
Khafre and Menaura sit.
The city about them spewing
the gases of man into the once
pristine desert and sky.
Hydrocarbons and lead turn
the atmosphere a shade of ochre
tinged with rust,
and the haze through which
the marvels of the ages are seen
is all that maintains the fantasy.
Centuries pass
as the life in and out of Cairo Egypt
leeches off the glory of the past.
Architecture, art, gold and silver
that flowed from the mines
like water from the font of Eden
oil the skies and pump the heart
of a nation.
The Golden Age fell,
fell with the onslaught of the Romans
and Christianity…
leaving a people to live
on the corpses of Pharaoh’s
http://www.arabworldbooks.com/articles1.html
Categories:
uncared for, adventure, angst, education, history,
Form:
Free verse
Bed.
Bedlam.
Bethlehem.
Chronic traumatic encephalopathy:
Something with football and clandestine
Conferences, like political campaigns.
Suicides just outside the bride's bridal shower,
Because of a concussion?
Numerous concussions? In London?
Perhaps it was rugby.
Poor groom, with blood across his tuxedo.
Poor bride, reeling at the sight.
This is Bethlehem, home of the hurt, the dead, and the insane.
Beds that are bedridden in a bedlam of Bethlehem.
There are no people. Only emptied guns across rotten sheets and old clothes.
It is not abandoned. It is simply uncared for.
Categories:
uncared for, anxiety, conflict, football, horror,
Form:
Free verse
We humans are like freshly washed clothes on clothes lines
fluttering in gentle breeze, different designs,
made up of all colours, different shapes and size
created for certain jobs, live under same skies,
we have purpose, a reason, we are all needed
like clothes on that line one day we'll be depleted,
through out life our bodies and our minds change, redrawn
lost sent down unknown paths looking for a new dawn,
feeling life's burden just like that heavy clothes line
unable to be free in grips of its confine,
if our clothes are uncared for, not washed hung to dry
they can always be reused, we wither and die,
I see those drying clothes in a different light
life on lines so colourful, useful, soft and bright.
Categories:
uncared for, analogy, clothes, color, humanity,
Form:
Rhyme
In your eyes, I’m a nobody
Not much worth a look
Left unnoticed in one corner
Where no one saw me weep
Do I look unappealing, I wonder
Tried flashing a bright smile
Under the blinding noon sky
But still your eyes avoid mine
And you look past way beyond
Do I look blurry, I wonder
Finally, I caught a glimpse
When you tripped on my sore foot
But your gaze seemed ablaze
As if I was a lump on the road
Do I look frail, I wonder
Forgotten and uncared for
I felt exhausted and weak
Under the heat of the sun I rested
Till the storm passed through the night
Must I hold on, I wonder
One thing though is certain
I may be bruised and broken
But the love I have for you
Remains solid as a rock
5 April 2018
Categories:
uncared for, life, love,
Form:
Free verse
People are often unreasonable
And self-centered
Forgive them any way
If you are kind people may
Accuse you of ulterior motives
Be kind any way
If you are honest people
May cheat you
Be honest anyway
If you find happiness people
May be jealous
Be happy anyway
The good you do today
May be forgotten tomorrow
Do good anyway
Give the world the best you have
And it may never be enough
Give your best anyway
For you see in the end
It is between you and God
It was never between you and them
Mother Theresa of Calcutta
A heart of pure gold
You cared for the unwanted
You gave joy to the unloved
And you stood by the uncared for
Continue to rest in bosom of the lord
Categories:
uncared for, blessing, caregiving, christian, dedication,
Form:
Free verse
Our current situation,
in the evolution of our species,
is one in which the ego has forgotten its true role in the psyche
and has usurped the role of central regulator. Carl Jung
Sometimes the best gift you can give yourself
is to forgive yourself
for not thinking and feeling and acting
like your healthiest self
on your best day.
Set yourself down in an empty therapy chair,
but keep your interdependent biosystem dancing,
choose your words to yourself kindly
with active curiosity
as your body reminds
rewinds
revisits
remembers
your listening empty-chaired mind
I'm exhausted by your confusion
about what you would actually need
to be healthy
and what you think you should want
to feel better about your lack of integrity
lack of compassion
lack of self-and-other-respect
lack of curiosity
and maybe something like
lack of reverence for life,
too much severance
from considering the probabilities
of a feeling-wealthy death.
I want to be free of your insatiable craving
to be appreciated
even by those you don't appreciate,
to be recognized
even by those you don't know,
and adored
despite your incapacity to feel adoration.
Why do you wander off
and leave me neglected
malnourished
dehydrated
bereft
uncared for
unappreciated
uncelebrated
unadored
neglected,
verbally abused?
So, please share with me,
what do you feel you personally need
as informed by your own past experience
on your best trauma-free day
doing your physical
and mental
and political
and economic
and social
and environmental
healthy
loving kindness best?
Categories:
uncared for, analogy, body, culture, health,
Form:
Free verse
Sun leathered skin, tanned and flayed
lies draped over the bench’s wooden slats.
A long-forgotten art brought back to
lack-lustre life
along the boardwalk.
•
This wrinkled pre-aged skin,
pricked in not so neat lines
each track a stop on the journey
that brings their nodding half-lives
to the boardwalk.
•
The coke and ice-cream hit, not for their
uncared for, condemned kids
but to feed a sugar rush,
stave off that comedown
on the boardwalk.
•
Thick syrup methodone, a sop
to replace the brown heroin
that once kissed their veins,
kicks in as they shadow walk
to the boardwalk
•
Calloused, cracked skin spreads
factor 50, to protect the delicate
casing of their ravaged organs
as they lie, replete,
along the boardwalk.
Categories:
uncared for, family, health, life, urban,
Form:
Free verse
Standing in the school yard
Alone and all forlorn
Trousers all threadbare
Jumper all torn
Eyes wide and frightened
Hair closely shorn.
Taunted and humiliated
Nobody on his side
No one knows the secrets
He's buried deep inside
He keeps them safely hidden
If he told they'd say he lied.
The filth and depravation
Of the place he spends each night
Unwashed,unloved, uncared for
As the world ignores his plight
Cold and hunger his compatriots
A bare bulb his only light.
The taunts and jibes they haunt him
As he lays down to his rest
Oblivious to the ramblings
Downstairs,of drunken guests
Blotting out the fear of shame
If by chance they called his name.
He dreams of being normal
To have a mom and dad who care
Of not fading to the background
Of not pretending he's not there
To have a family to protect him
Would be a reverie beyond compare.
But he'll survive the years before him
Be strong, become a man
Even though no one wanted him
He will achieve the things he can
But born as he was of mortal sin
He will always be that lonely "ragamuffin".
Categories:
uncared for, childhood,
Form:
Rhyme
My intentions are not preventive actions, just decisions made. Only if I had given more thoughts to right and wrong choices that has crossed me. Maybe contemplate a better plan that could have coexisted with both side of my thought process. My independent thinking has corrupted my better judgment.
Two faced, and the mask hasn’t changed my feelings about things. Maybe it’s broken like how I feel about my own soul. Torn, and I decided to walk away ending up at a cross road. One of a broken path that I choose seems to be beaten and rough with parts of a pave surface. Left and uncared for. Cracks big enough for flowers to grow.
I have enslaved my own mind by guilt. I felt my very heart beating out of my chest, as sleepless nights haunt my body, I’m tired. Laying in bed staring at ceilings trying to decipher this meaning of my feelings and why have I done certain things that in my life I wouldn’t be able to change.
Life is a game and my tears cried tears just from being tired. Tired of playing life’s game.
No suicide. Just my thoughts caught up in a web of lies I have been fighting with those with lose lips. The spiders crawl from under the closet door abandoning their own post of bones and decomposed material. I want to be free to leave, my feelings won’t let me and still I feel it’s not worth the time to just repair broken things when my heart decided differently. Conflict with my spiritual self, my thoughts cant process and it’s a long sleepless night.
Categories:
uncared for, depression, heart, feelings, heart,
Form:
Lyric