Best Wheelchairs Poems
An infinite door of midnight blue;
glowing peephole that is the moon.
Dare I look before turned to dust?
Yes, dear friend, I surely must.
In the midst, a city of finest gold,
large as the earth; immense and bold.
Quoins of pearl, this must be known,
the lusture seemed a life, it's own.
Rising from it, a mountainous temple;
whisps of prayers escape the steeple.
Without the city, fields of crystal flowers,
and trees more akin to wind chime towers.
Platinum trunks doning metalic leaves.
Angelic music when brushed with their wings.
Out from all this, layers of various planes
seemingly worlds of their own, yet all of the same.
Once starving children and homeless ones too,
with comforts of home; endless tables of food.
One plane of great sports, children running free;
prosthetics and wheelchairs, now trophies and glee.
Another, Indian braves running with buffalo,
women laughing carefree with children in tow.
Serene planes of beaches and tropical breezes.
On none was found pain, lameness or diseases.
Thousands of planes, but my favorite to view;
families and the ancients with no need of adieu.
So euphoric, this sight, but there is more to tell,
as three glorious chimes of the great temple bell.
All froze still as beams of golden light
transported them to the temple in quiet.
The most beautiful prayers and songs arose.
From within the city; pure love aglow.
Three bells again and all were beamed out;
some to the same planes, some different routes.
I wanted so badly, to open the door
and be in this place forever more,
but the door was locked and I had no key,
then an angel turned and flew towards me.
Approaching the peephole, that is the moon,
It said, "Don't worry, you'll be here soon."
I have need of a key, I began to implore,
and it slipped a note neath the midnight door.
I unfolded the note; three lines within,
and three nails fell out; payment of sin.
The first line proclaimed, the door was faith.
The second; the beams are God's loving grace.
Overcome by peace as I read the third line.
Jesus is the way, the truth and the light,
and I remembered a scripture that so sweetly states;
"For by grace, through faith, are ye saved."
E Pluribus Unum ~ Out Of Many, One
[Author's note: E Pluribus Unum is a traditional motto of the United
States, but the scope of this poem is intended to be of a more global scale.]
We are farmhands, postal workers, we are rich industrialists
We are pilots, sailors, warriors, mathematicians, scientists
We are doctors, nurses, dentists; taking care of those in need
We are teachers, flight attendants, moms and dads with mouths to feed
We post blogs, develop websites, we are software engineers
We are athletes, video gamers, we're retired volunteers
We are dancers, painters, sculptors, we are actors on the stage
We are clerks, construction workers, pay for night school with our wage
We are high school educated, college maybe, or hard knocks
We are barbers and beauticians, drive a truck or work on docks
We are clergy, civic leaders, wardens at the county jail
Roll in wheelchairs, use sign language, wear prosthetics, read by Braille
We are bankers, tax accountants, proud grandparents, husbands, wives,
We are activists who strive to give our children better lives
We are widows, orphans, childless; we feel sorrow to the core
We are social workers, advocates of justice for the poor
We make music or just listen, sing out loud or softly hum
We are common, we are special, we are those who overcome
We are poets and songwriters, we write letters to our kin
Sharing stories of our life, of where we're going, where we've been
We are those with beating hearts, with flexing muscles, red blood cells
Kidney donors, missionaries, we help dig fresh water wells
We praise God in mosque or church, in synagogue or kingdom hall,
In a temple, or in nature, maybe have no God at all
We are from around the planet, we have skin of every tone
We have short hair, long hair, no hair, kinky hair; we're not alone
We esteem diversity; you value me, I value you
Always with respect for those who hold a different point of view
This, my dream: to be united when it all is said and done
Though we may not be there yet, we share this journey -
We are one.
Written 1 Feb 2022
They are lined up along the long hallways
wheelchairs protruding, blocking the corridors.
The aroma of antiseptic spray attempts to mask
the pungent smell of body odors.
The loud blare of the big screen TV
reverberates from the empty day room,
while medical staff busily sort paperwork
behind the sterile counter tops.
Each ancient face, each frail body
huddled beneath their blankets
reflect a unique history, a life story
that is waning with the passage of time.
Men and women, now trapped within their
weakened bodies, once vibrant and strong
now confined and consigned to wait
away from the public eye, burning daylight.
Written on 4/28/2015
He said, “Everything about lust
has already been written!”
Every person, man or woman
at some time will be smitten
Lust can be fetish,
she dresses like a kitten
Romantic and soft
on a bed of white linen
Others want it hard
they long to be bitten
A few have been rubbed
with a sensuous mitten
Some search for lust
they are okay with paying
Choosing a body
pushing deep until they’re weeping
Who knows the secrets
many people are keeping
Lust can be confusing
it messes up our feelings
Yet somehow lust’s pulsations
are way beyond appealing
Clinging and groping
looking up at the ceiling
Holding hands while walking
or lust on a table
Wheelchairs or walkers
each will do what they are able
Images in fairytales
or sexy found on night time cable
It gets under our skin
makes us feel so insatiable
Although the faces change
lust is still the right label
No one has been immune
not even Adam Eve or Able
Wallflowers with their faces raised,
and others too, with heads bowed low;
the weak, the stronger, eyes all glazed...
those flowers there all in a row.
Wallflowers placed against the wall,
stems bent and twisted, on display.
In a long row, they line the hall,
like wilted plants, no role to play.
Wallflowers there lined up as eight;
tomorrow perhaps there are less.
So soon replaced by whims of fate...
more added flowers in distress.
They stab the heart of those who pass;
eyes look into our depth of soul.
Blank eyes that glare like faded glass...
sad hearts that know there is no goal.
Wallflowers there against the wall;
from wheelchairs come the quiet cries.
I hear their silent, pleading call...
My anger I cannot disguise.
Sandra M. Haight
~8th Place~
Premiere Contest: Weepy Quatrain
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Judged: 05/21/2016
================================
I wrote about this moment, which is
intensely frozen in my mind, because of a visit to a local
nursing home. (photo from Goggle images.)
Elephants ran
from the perilous sounds
the bakery overcooked the days bread
winter tires
installed on the wheelchairs
soldiers in a line to eat cakes
bread was in short supply
monsters on break, or strike
clouds dipped to human eyes
blinding all with hope
if a grave misses a few flowers?
what does it matter?
chimneys have no smoke
wineries have no grapes
lovers lost all grace
when rain falls
words become wet
like feet caressing the sand
I have a photo?
would you understand?
Pecking quick, a parting kiss
Pumping legs, a train to miss
Lovers waving, strangers pass
Tears and hugs a whistle blast
Scanning papers on news stands
Pats on backs while shaking hands
Averted eyes and hurried walk
Can’t stop, won’t wait, no time to talk
Pushchairs, wheelchairs, screaming kids
Cardboard coffee cups with lids
Departure times on TV screens
Red light, amber, go is green
Somewhere, nowhere, never speak
Laughing, crying, faces bleak
Turned up collars, downcast heads
Business suits and tardy threads
Briefcase, suitcase, traveling bag
Folded papers ,glossy Mags
Hustle, bustle, teeming by
Oblivious to earth and sky
Don’t stop don’t look and don’t ask why
Ticket punched and journey paid
Click the stopwatch
Now you’re dead
They didn't rush out to greet him
When Father time made his call...
They traded house and picket fence...
For one room down a long hall
like soldiers standing watch...
They take turns staring at the clock...
And wonder where the babies are....
They used to rock!
He said....It's Grand Central Station...
Every day, at breakfast call
Between the walkers and the wheelchairs!
She said.....Be glad that you can walk!
Silence streaks across the room...
And a hush falls on the hallway...
When the announcer says...bingo has...
Been cancelled... for today!
Oh! They're going with the flow
Like candles...when he wind begins to blow...
Two precious silver tears...
....in their golden years
They are going with the flow!
Close friends and family...
Don't come around much...anymore
So they comfort one another...
'Thought that what friends were for....
They pack up to go back home.....
About once a week it seems...
And the nurse softly smiles...
As she unpacks their things...
They are going.....
Going.......Goi
I’m dreaming with my eyes of faith,
Godly dreams hope you’ll see.
My dreams backed with God’s promises,
‘New Earth’ … for you and me.
New when God’s will, “on earth is done,”
for years heard people pray.?
On beautiful earth we call home,
God’s Kingdom … will hold sway.
Christ is King of God’s Kingdom, all
authority received.
In heaven, and right here below,
on earth … no one will grieve.
Dream of throwing away wheelchairs,
our walkers, our canes too.
Isaiah wrote that we’ll leap about,
just as we’ve seen …deer do
.
Our friends who’ve lost their sight, observe
at last see me and you.
Show them, won’t need try explain
the pretty color … blue.
Years dreamed of God’s promised blessings,
God’s Paradise soon here.
Hope you’ll dream through your eyes of faith,
God’s will on earth … is near.
Looking down through my window, at the beautiful people shuffling like charmed regals.
My chair can get closer from the side,
but the view isn't as accessible.
If I could only get well, I can do those things.
I could eat nails, be a badass from my immunity to sufferings.
Is it because I am bad or would do bad things?
I'd like to think I am disabled for a purpose.
I hope that it is in lightening God's burden,
sharing his cross, that is heavy.
I see more people now, wandering the streets.
No one talks to them, they pretend they don't see.
I know the routine.
There is a vulnerability in this world that is unfair.
The unborn, even less able with their handicap
than me, to have a voice.
One day, the world will see the truth.
It will set them free.
The last will be first and the first will be last.
When we all get our permanent incorruptible bodies. There's no need for wheelchairs in heaven,
no need to avoid like the plague,
because there won't be any.
Just things the way they ought to be.
Dear Mom’s Multiple Sclerosis,
Thank you. I know it’s odd to thank a disease.
Especially when it’s bound to take the one person that will always love you.
But thanks.
You have made my mother stronger in the face of pain.
You have made me stronger in the face of uncertainty.
But, thanking you does not mean you don’t infuriate me.
You have made her future look like wheelchairs,
medicines, and a useless right half of her body.
You have made my future look like hovering over my sick mama,
constant fear and never knowing what is next.
Her past looks like hospitals, physical therapy sessions,
and missing senior prom so she could relearn to brush her teeth.
Mine looks like remembering what she couldn’t,
filling in sentences when her words went missing,
and making dinner for kids whose mommy couldn’t move.
No matter how many books I read about you,
and trust me, I’ve read more than you think,
I still can’t find the words to properly explain to
my eight year old sister
why mommy sleeps so much
and is always in so much pain.
Whining wailers never know when,
opportune moments ever begin.
An angry man hath his eyes closed,
not a bit of triumph ever he knows.
I smile and nod my gratitude,
to vets in wheelchairs "in their fortitude"
down syndrome children‘s, little aptitude,
courage, in the plight of such magnitudes.
Gratitude begets beatitudes.
Gratefully I recharge my attitude.
I smile when in conflict, I am stewed,
a notion of locomotion, in attitude.
I smile and rejoice in summer’s breeze.
I drink noble coffee in a winter’s freeze.
My conscience is clear I am at peace,
watching each fall the geese fly east.
Gratitude begets these beatitudes.
in diligence, I secure my attitude.
In smiles each day my life is renewed,
by love’s theory of moving subdued.
I praise in amaze on a rainy day,
every mud puddle in which children play,
I love their laughter and frolic, quite gay.
"Gratitude doth beget it's master’s pay."
Clancy's pub had cut me off, said no more pints for me
I knew he was mistaken, I was sober as could be
So I climbed off of the bar stool and headed for the door
And much to my surprise found I was laying on the floor
I crawled to the front entrance and stood up with some care
Opened up the portal and then fell down the front stair
I crawled up to a lamppost and clammered to my feet
But after taking one step, I fell into the street
I only lived a block away, so on me knees I stayed
Crawling down the sidewalk, twas slow progress that I made
At last I reached me cottage and made it to the door
I pulled meself up, opened it and sprawled upon the floor
Somehow I got up the stairs and rolled into the bed
Me knees hurt like the devil, there was a pounding in me head
When I woke up next morning, I was an awful sight
Me pant legs were all shredded, I looked like I'd lost a fight
“It's drunk again you were last night” I heard my wife declare
“How would you know if I was drunk, you weren't even there”
“The barkeep, he just called me and asked me how you are”
“And said that I should tell you, your wheelchairs at the bar”
Always liked this joke and decided to put it to rhyme.
Dad, why are those men carrying flags?
Because it's a parade
To honor our country
Then the little boy asked,
Were you an Army man?
Yes, I was.
Now look straight ahead to the Flag son.
Why do the Army men in wheelchairs
Have ribbons on their chests?
They're for bravery son
Do you have any?
I wasn't as brave as them.
Now look straight ahead to the Flag son.
Can I be a soldier one day?
Only if you grow up big and strong
Stand tall and straight
Have a steady hand
With good eyes
And aren't afraid
Then you can be a soldier.
Sitting around the kitchen table
Listening to their fathers and uncles talk of the days when they were young
Boys grow up
Listening to the glories of war
Adventure and camaraderie
And guns and things.
Years later another war begins
From old wounds never healed
Young boys become men
And answer the call
During the war
Soldiers slog on
Mired in mud
Deep in fight
They obey this
And do that
But no one wants
To see a soldier
On his back.
Politicians will say
The outcome of war
Rests with the people
But once the war starts
And the killings begin
Politics becomes business
Dirty tricks a diversion
And truth a casualty.
People ask
Who is in charge?
No one answers
Reasons not given
Only lies and
Pointed fingers
And the voice at the top
Has no blame.
But one thing is certain
When all is said
There will be bloodshed and
Many dead.
Ask the old men
Who know about war
And drink to memories of long ago
Boys were led to believe
Stories made of lies
The simple truth
Never told
Is fathers lied
And soldiers died.
Spina Bifida.
Stares from Random people,
People I dont know,
Spina Bifida.
Scary doctors visits,
All the news,
Wheelchairs and people asking "why are you in one of those?"
Spina Bifida.
People taking the handicap spots,
Not being able to walk.
These are the reasons why,
I hate having spina bifida.