They built this world for the other hand,
Every door, every tool, every scissors command.
Ink smears across my palm like war paint,
While spiral notebooks mock me with their constraint.
But I am the mirror breaker,
The rule shaker,
The one who writes backwards
And dreams in reverse.
Ten percent revolution ninety percent poetic evolution
I am the southpaw standing alone
Against a kingdom of clockwise clocks
And right-turn locks.
My hand moves left while the world turns right,
I am the shadow boxer in broad daylight.
Every signature is an act of defiance,
Every handshake, civil disobedience.
They say I'm sinister—
From the Latin for "left"—
But I am the artist
Of beautiful theft,
Stealing moments of pure rebellion
With every stroke of my rebellious pen.
I am differently commanded.
So here's to the lefties, the rebels born,
Who face each day like breaking dawn,
Carving our paths through a backward maze,
We are the 10 percent uprising,
The minority surprising,
The ones who reach across our bodies
To write our own stories.
Categories:
left handed, imagery, inspirational, me, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Tho' right-handed
instruments the two do play
yet one is downside up
left-handed musicians both are they
or seem to sup
from a similar southpaw cup
and if you follow the trail of crumbs
they lead to Jimi
the Starr of guitar
and stick to Ringo
the Hendrix of drums
Categories:
left handed, fun, guitar, humorous, music,
Form: Rhyme
My paper is always turned so people don't judge;
because yes if it's vertical my work will be smudged.
With the other I've tried to write;
but man it just doesn't look right.
When I bat on that side
the ump runs to hide.
I can't even start on that foot,
my balance pretty much kaput.
And do not get me started on that 'right-handed thinking;'
to grasp that logic's like being on a ship that is sinking!
So over the decades I've often had to interject,
that being left-handed is the obvious 'correct.'
Categories:
left handed, humor,
Form: Rhyme
My mother mentioned casually that I was dyslexic.
This was something I had forgotten.
I knew I had to wear a glove for a year of first grade
To force me to not use my left dominant hand.
But I had forgotten the hours I spent after school with Miss Kneeland.
Miss Kneeland was an old maid school teacher
Who had already taught my father and his brother Jerry.
They were also dyslexic, so she knew what she was dealing with.
I had spent hours after school with her in first grade
As she taught me to see my reading words the way others saw them.
She used a mirror, and until I saw them with the mirror,
they were squiggles that made little sense.
It was a struggle I had long forgotten,
I have never fully recovered from wearing a one compartment mitten
On my left hand, so I could not use my left hand for a year.
This was also Miss Kneeland’s idea, so I could be right handed.
Categories:
left handed, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form: Prose Poetry
There has never been a southpaw,
Who has the crushing show made poor;
Each in the ring a carnivore,
His left hook, his wasting death jaw,
Your swollen eyes already a law
Before the last bout on the floor.
A lateral body positioning
That The Left Thing keeps conditioning,
From the ring catapulting a victim
To an international hospital
And from its ward to its mortuary:
So, it had been with Callous Etim,
From a fight to a celebratory rental
And a speeding-up of his obituary.
South paws still have been licked
By the Maverick Right-Handed,
When they have such boldly picked
For the blows hatefully landed.
Pacquiao saying it was going to be Mayweather
And meeting with a bit of bad weather.
Categories:
left handed, career, courage, people, sports,
Form: Rhyme
She can’t be left-handed, my mother told my dad.
Miss Kneeland, the first grade teacher says it’s simply not the fad.
There must be something wrong with her, the whole family agreed.
Look at her right now, 40 feet in the air, upside down in that stupid Oak tree.
So they made me wear a mitt on my left hand for an entire school year,
Forcing me to use the other hand, their reason to this day is certainly not clear.
But I do type 85 words a minute, thanks to that and the meanest typing teacher that ever was.
But that story is for another time, as I’m in a great mood right now, and plan to keep my little buzz.
Categories:
left handed, abuse, angst, anxiety, child
Form: Free verse
you are on my mind yet so far away
left handed chemistry never felt so good
if only mutual feelings could be reached
images of bumping into each other at a beach access stays firm and stubborn in my mind
something about you....always been something about you....
though your color is different from mine, all i see is the natural beauty of your vibe
we cannot be anymore different
we cannot be anymore distant
yet when we connect, it is like time is a stop sign painted green
just to see you again....i do not think i will have any control over my libido, my lips, or my tongue
of course you only see me as a special and precious friend, and i would never disrespect you and try to go beyond back
if you reciprocated the direction my mind is taking right now twenty some odd years ago, perhaps this poem would be written a totally different way
you are so close in my mind yet your heart is in too far away from me today to even attempt a play
Categories:
left handed, best friend, crush, imagination,
Form: Free verse
left handed scissors
the most wonderful dark green
feel mighty special
Categories:
left handed, how i feel,
Form: Haiku
My boss asked me how old I was today.
When I told him I was 60 he said, "No Way!"
"Tomorrow I'm putting you on a lighter work detail," to me he told.
"I had no idea that you were so frigging old."
Categories:
left handed, me, work, me,
Form: Rhyme
.
He could really play
That electric-guitar fine
Left-handed groovy
Categories:
left handed, music
Form: Senryu
my left handed lover
has a silken
touch
knowing
reaching
holding
and yet
breathless
in time.
Categories:
left handed, love
Form: Free verse