Long Able bodied Poems
Long Able bodied Poems. Below are the most popular long Able bodied by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Able bodied poems by poem length and keyword.
The teachers and staff at the special school, Graysmill,
Did what they could to give the severes a life afterwards,
And they presumed I would be accepted to work,
At the CALL Centre of Edinburgh University, for a long time to lurk.
It’s now CALL Scotland, and researches special tech,
Develops assistive software, devices, and communication aids;
It digitalise written exams energetically and with voice,
For disabled kids who need to have their own writing choice.
But I went to Daniel Stewarts nursery, was well accepted, superior,
As I came top of the class for both words and numbers,
And as it is a top private school near Edinburgh’s city centre,
I found the sympathy hard at Graysmill ‘cos I was not inferior.
In the 70s and 80s they thought the special pupils couldn’t interact,
In mainstream schools where the able-bodied were understood;
Most of my friends had a dislike of normal, ordinary kids,
And didn’t understand my perceptions of relationality and brotherhood.
So as it was sometimes an effort for me to be part of the school,
And I just wanted to walk away from all things disabled or impaired,
The moment I started university where opportunity beckoned,
Where my intentions and abilities could be so aired.
I wanted to maybe be a software engineer for organisations,
But knew I couldn’t type all day every day with my foot,
So after uni got a part-time job at the CALL Centre, but felt self-defeated,
‘Cos I'd had blows with my parents about my own mechanism of input.
I did home computing growing up using my hands on the keyboard,
But did my school and homework with my foot, not good,
And since they wanted me to go to university, no big deal,
They forced me to keep using the faster mechanism, the switch for my foot.
So I resented the CALL Centre right throughout my young years,
For not believing or ingratiating me when I told them of my hand dexterity,
And as a graduate able to deliberate upon my case of disrespect,
I can say that my parents should have certainly been certified for neglect.
I did not renew my contract with the Call, was only for four months,
As I didn’t want to put myself through that close contact and innocence assumption,
But think that they do an note-worthy job for severely disabled kids,
And that my case was an exception to their loving, kind gumption.
We are soldiers
This is our life
our job
our career
Chosen for reasons whatever
In peace and in conflict
Striving to achieve our dreams
Struggling to suppress our fears
We are the Armed Forces
strong
proud
able-bodied
Dedicated to protecting our country
nation's people
Large ponderous units
Crossing the vast expanse of unfamiliar terrain
well trained
meticulously drilled
A special breed
powerful force
band of brothers
Instructed in the art of war
Where survival is not an option
And if we fall dignify us
The price we will pay
loss
death
We belong to the world
peacekeeping
disaster
war
We only ask for support
understanding
respect
War is globally rejected
Third world regimes grasping greater power
terrorists
insurgents
rebel forces
Their native peoples desperate plea for relief
genocide
slavery
capture
torture
To reject would be inhumane
answering requires military
force
The product is war
spawning hostility
destroying the innocent
mouthing ignorance
The reality of it all
sadness
families suffer
blame spent
sides taken
casualties
Someone has to die.
Form:
Number forty six - White House occupant re:
guarding President elect Joe Biden
Within mein hermitage
now dwells one euphoric troglodyte who wept
upon hearing unbelievable news,
(albeit at snail's pace schlepped
finally proclamation emancipation
gave reasonable rhyme yours truly to ejaculate
(not prematurely), subsequently I leapt
into the air, and kept
myself aloft completing
one after another sumersault and except
for minor nuisance of gravity
nevertheless landed feet first and crept
back into mine mancave adept
to survive alone in the wilderness.
Seventy four million popular votes
tallied across country,
gives ample reason to grind hips and bump,
(cuz the most votes
cast for any presidential candidate in history),
which Republican contender finally plopped
hook line and anchored
courtesy Taj Mahal replica sinker
into dustbin of history
good riddance electorate voted out
loutish oaf, which voters chose to dump
best mandated to cavort with zoot suited frump
on any given Wednesday available to hump
rotund barenaked lady merging
into humongous protoplasmic lump.
Caught red handed concerning
more'n where's the beef
stole 2016 election
under nose of Hillary Clinton
abused role, when tasked
as commander in chief
good ole Charlie Brown nemesis
caused nothing but grief,
hence yours truly quite elated
upon occasion when figurative new leaf
turned over and booted out
as more onerous than Baghdad thief.
Hit the ground running
with nary a second to waste
Joe Biden, Kamala Harris and company
proving their steely eyed mettle
after victory lap Democrats did taste
usher in COVID-19 game plan
bolstering pandemic defences
where prior administration sorely misplaced
priorities United States Lady Liberty
wantonly, undeservedly, subsequently
her reputation disgraced.
Hope springs eternal - ah tis amazing grace
yours truly suddenly brimming with optimism
able bodied diverse cabinet to erase
formerly inept sycophants with intentions base
running amok within White House
at long last competent candidate won the race
adieu Donald Trump, who
did disappearing act at Mar-A-Lago without a trace
sore loser teed off absent American
delivering his humiliating defeat coup de grâce.
In dribs and drabs, in fits and starts,
the elders slowly congregate;
in the common room of the seniors' home,
they patiently sit and wait.
Some are wheeled in, some simply shuffle
in orderly fashion, without kerfuffle.
They've all been told
there's "gonna be a show"
put off by some "young people"
who (chances are) they don't know.
Many are quite alert and very aware
delighted to be together
and to have an experience to share.
Others come in a different mental state,
in their own little worlds,
seemingly uncerebral
yet dignified, quiet, sedate.
The entertainers have already arrived, in fact,
and as soon as the seniors come in
they start to interact,
exchanging pleasantries with hellos,
how-do-you-dos and "what're-ya-ats!";
smiles and handshakes easily given
with banter and casual chit-chat.
The nurses and attendants smile,
noting the connectivity,
and across the room faces brighten
at the growing sense of fun and festivity.
A happy mood pervades the place
as the singers smile and sing;
their voices effortlessly fill the air,
easy, relaxed, warm, soothing.
Lots of "old" songs are played and sung:
"Country Roads", "Danny Boy",
"Kiss an Angel Good Morning".
"If you know the words, please sing along!"
and so many of them do, with voices soft or strong.
But what sets this show apart
is the interaction
between singers and seniors;
their reaction and sense of satisfaction
of a diversion from the mundane,
a vivid and vibrant distraction.
And those with minds in altered states
are aroused from their lethargy,
hearing the music and sensing joy,
perhaps remembering when they felt such ecstasy.
Often, the singers will reach out to touch and hold a hand.
Elderly eyes light up and smiles show they understand.
A few of the more able-bodied are invited to dance,
a reminder of the long-ago days of youth and romance.
After an hour or so, the concert reaches its conclusion
with applause and cheers, compliments said in profusion.
The Sunshine Singers are pleased with a job well done.
The seniors and staff feel delight and satisfaction;
and everyone is enveloped in a warm glow:
the simple joy that comes from human connection.
My place in the universe
Pondering my place in the universe
I wondered,
am I really important?
does my life make a difference
in this earthly existence?
Or am I just a grain of sand
being trampled upon by imaginary
gigantic powers?
As I observe the golden globe's
rise and fall each day, in
spectacular array, I realize
that my existence is rather
spectacularly insignificant.
Watching the interaction of light sharing,
the passing of the torch so to speak,
of the greater luminary to the lesser every night
all for the benefit of us earth dwellers
gives me reason to pause.
We are so small, less than grasshoppers
in comparison to our Maker, yet the heavenly skies
in their incomprehensible majesty are designed with us in mind.
Oh now you are having delusions of grandeur you say!
Ok, think about this,
What purpose does moonlight serve
if not to be observed by us?
Who needs Divine guidance by day
and by night?
Does the animal kingdom appreciate
it's glory and give praise to it's Maker?
Or does it require a measure of intelligence
and appreciation for the Giver of life, to
be able to see more than celestial lights
reflecting for our benefit?
Can we not see His Wisdom, Love, and Power
shining through these reflective lenses?
Does not our pondering these celestial reflectors
cause a reflex reaction in our interior?
Surely that is the purpose, and as a result,
my quiet reflections, have become earthly
reflections of heavenly realities.
Just as these heavenly bodies give silent
testimony to their Grand Maker
should I not, as an able bodied human
a vessel of divine light, also give glory
the the one and same Maker?
So I understand, and have come to know
that the reason for all human existence
is to recognize our dependence on
and submit our lives to, and use our lives to give
glory to our Maker.
My insignificant tongue, can at least
be used to declare God's glory, and by
so doing I am reflecting His love for all
humans.
In other words, my place in the universe
is clearly heard, when I raise my voice
and I rejoice, in praising my Creator...in verse.
John Derek Hamilton
May 09,2016
while atop the surface of planet Earth humanity
all abustle skittering
to and fro, hither and yon
engaged in self important activity yielding profits,
sans blood, sweat and tears won
full throttle industrial
manufacturers quaking unstoppably
only intermittently pausing,
where managers standing arms akimbo
asper quizzical looking hue cree ton
megaphone blaring orders to underlings
so "Boss" tweed can line pockets
for his/her daughter and/or son
Head Honcho most aggrieved,
when red ink doth run
undermining the bottom line,
thus farming out labor to distant places
(where wages amount
to pennies on the dollar)
locals such as Lake Woebegone, Qum, Timbuktu,
et cetera where pun
gnashing working conditions tantamount
to slave labor,
yet scare other options open
hence able bodied men,
women and children scramble,
despite back breaking grueling physically
exhausting grunt job accepting second to none
with nary any rest for weary
long as workweek includes a mon
day, where bloodied bare hands claw
purported Mother lode
with feigned frenzied zest
enterprise bolstered
via executive bank ministers
financing lucrative scheme
attended to by majordomo
attired in expensive vest
corporate investment project elicits
quaffing, imbibing, and chugging elixir
produced from heavily guarded recipe
qua electric kool aid acid test
where coeval business men/women rest
assured bonanza forecast upon
former green acres hiding treasured quest
marginally concerned such nettlesome
pillaging, ravaging, torturing ranks
wealth driven vanity as deleterious pest
shortsighted exploitation money making embarkation
glorified as investment nsync to feather nest
retirement funds despite leaving the environment messed
up, whereby future generations saddled with
poorly bandaging gentrifying, resuscitating
gaping wounds upon Gaia at best
shortening quality of life
for all (poetry) Earthlings aye attest.
Call it a requiem, dirge or elegy,
Lament, funeral song of eulogy,
On failing, dying light and last hurrah,
Maybe the last polite vah vah!
Once, a focal point of a family,
A device that brought it close together,
That not ere long a radio used to be,
Family fulcrum, pivot or tether!
Ere, youngsters were hooked to open-air games,
Later on replaced by digital ones
That made the able-bodied walking lames,
Each hooked on to a personal brand of funs.
Time was when the centre of gravity
Was food and frolics on a dining table,
That the Idiot Box had usurped; pity
That meal was munched with the fair served on cable!
One would recall, when ads for condoms came,
When sanitary naps ads became bold
In front of whole family, shorn of shame,
Children looked down on food plates, feeling cold.
Later on when times changed, unlike the old,
Children would look like: we-know-it-all-cool,
You were the prime piece of estate to hold,
You made, TV, an incredible pull.
The changing times then took a giant’s stride
When entertainment was no more social,
But more and more individual, personal,
You no more were, well, a newly-wed bride.
No doubt you too tried to be somewhat smart,
Yet, failed to compete with PCs and phones
That grew smarter, closer to users’ heart,
What can be done when changing times change tunes?
Today you’re far from your olden glory,
You try your hard to imitate smart phones,
Follow trodden treads, eyes tired and bleary,
O social outcast that house-corners owns!
Just one tap ah varied channels to change,
Enlarge a visual, or volume in mind,
One can command things of a varied range,
Alas, future does not seem to you so kind.
O pale shadow of your olden grandeur,
You no more are than a mere magnifier.
__________________________________________
Requiem |01.11.2021| elegy
Poet’s note: It may still be rather too early, but good old Idiot Box is on the way out. Here’s a requiem, maybe writ rather too early.
You were like the proud king lion,
Strong with thick main,
No hair out of place deliberately.
Constantly parading by your pack;
Commendation stood tall in there,
No questions, phraseology or rubs,
The podium harmonised plans,
To scrub up for an alighting,
Before medium light settled;
Hereward stood better than the rest,
And all needed to agree with you,
Then you roared at me with jesting jaws.
You were like a bird,
Not specifiable,
Except by the RSPB,
In a crowd which could only brake,
Under a focused eye,
One son too unstable,
Flying through the clouds,
In a flock,
Only falling for a reason.
You were like the hawk’s eye,
On me, all the time, relentlessly,
To see if I wanted to follow,
Or else love the arm amputee;
My friends were not yours,
Your mind was not mine,
I was your perusal,
but I was also your feed,
To sicken or to satisfy.
You were like the bear,
Dangerous because you swear,
Calling people skanks,
Just for walking able-bodied;
Separation has its faults,
And Hereward students,
Were only assisted anyway,
To love able-bodied people,
For their sameness to us,
In mind, body and fashion,
In heart, beliefs and views,
In vision and in choices.
You were like the sheep,
Most truly, conclusively,
With secrets and shyness,
Insecurities filled your vision,
Until the leader in you died:
You resided within your norm,
Of wheelchairs being normal,
Mounting the ewe in incest,
To your sacred inside.
But you were frightened inside really,
If the truth is to be told,
Of enrolling in Coventry University:
Your Hereward lane,
Of educated brains,
Of medical people and care staff,
Of other disabled students,
Who had been in physio like you,
Made you recline into your sleep,
Didn’t let you live or jirate.
But you were my sheep,
And you lost your white coat.
We are farmers without hoes and cutlasses
Dancing the stupid song of poverty
Push us back and forth, we follow
Once in the farmland, we does nothing than sleeping.
Under the farmstead snoring provokely.
Have you seen the precious example we've laid.
We are men of war without arsenals
We are doctors without stethoscope
Our heart tell us heart breathing of patients
We see when we don't see
Servants to the patients who prescribe drugs themselves
We only give false prophecy which they believed in.
With us manoeuvrings medical laws Bad mannered of manifestation of the heartbeat
We sing hilariously to make people happy
But remained sad
Always caught in the webs of sin
We are teachers without chalk and pen
Teaching what we don't know
Educating students to become fools as we are.
Push us back and forth, we follow
Fools with no destination and self esteem
The sings parrot is better off than us
Because it knowth where to stop in the high pitch of its song Which we knowth not
We are drivers without vehicle
Come on board we take you to hell
On the street we roam about hopeless not speechless
Our heads abroad but legs a home
We only give ears to those who call us friends
Whether in advantage or disadvantage
Perhaps that is why the pseudo democrats, corrupt leaders,
office loafers, and dubious leaders
Use us as political animals
We are husbands with no wives
Pupils with no books and Biro
Come, we teach you our singing styles
What you don't know about us
The singing fools we are
Black sheep of the nation
Rotten shinning fragrance eggs
Able bodied but foolish mind
We mislead and deceive young teens
Destroy and vandalizing properties
Truth is far from us
We bury ourselves in the same foolishness
Betray our own honest and truths
In the quest for foolish fame and wealth.
A Tale of Two Bugs
Two bugs go strolling along the road one day
One is named Joe
The other is named Bo
Joe told Bo he knew of a great hangout around the bend
He called out to his friend and invited him along
Joe began to hum a happy tune and asked Bo to join him
Two happy fellers off on the side of the road
Singing their hearts out as though they had no cares in the world
Joe instantly remembered he had left his wallet at home
So he headed back in the opposite direction
Bo merrily followed him
Along the way they picked up two toads
Who helped them make up time in record speed
So there you have it
Two bugs and two toads alongside the road
Next a big semitruck rolls along and squashes one of the toad’s front legs
Now there were two bugs, one able-bodied toad, and one hippity hoppity toad
All singing along the old long road
Next the four see a walking stick up ahead
The walking stick says to the injured toad, “I will be a handy crutch for
You. Just allow me to help pave the way!”
The injured toad joyfully accepted the walking stick’s offer and walked
More gracefully along the road
Next on the journey the caravan of friends approached a mud puddle where
several lady bugs were bathing
They offered to help them out of the puddle and jumped in themselves
Well, all of them except the injured toad and the walking stick
They stayed on the edge of the puddle til the swimming party concluded
Splishing and splashing they merrily sang wishing they could be forever friends
What is the moral of this story you ask?
The moral of this story is two fold
The best friends in the world are the ones who are the most unique
And the one’s who help you when you are down on your luck
The second moral is that if you are traveling along a dangerous road
It is better to travel as a friendly caravan
Gwendolen Rix
7-14-14
Dedicated to Melanie and Leslie