Long Cataracts Poems
Long Cataracts Poems. Below are the most popular long Cataracts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cataracts poems by poem length and keyword.
Your wise eyes glistened with cataracts, showing me the hazy Indian sky
The wrinkles on your face, the lines by your eyes, showed me the joys of the hills and caverns of the lands
The raised veins on your hands, bumpy yet smooth, acts like the Ganges, a life supply for you and many
The graying in your hair, shows me the struggles and triumphs, the marriages, the children,
The arthritis you have showed me the pain and determination, the years of work, the labor,
The gentle touch from your rough hands, show me your motherhood, your warmth, your love
The words you spoke, your native tongue, acted as the voice of a generation of women, a voice that’s been heard for years, but only sometimes appreciated
Your loss of hearing showed me the loudness of actions, the loudness of your people, the stories, the lessons you have heard over the years
The loss of memories for you, only showed the tremendous amount you lived, you saw, and felt
Your old passions and anger shined w the ferocity of the fiery red Indian sun
Your dry and cracked hands, showed me the deserts of Rajasthan
Your old gold, your wedding ring, your bangles, show me the beauty of our country, the traditions, that even after the years of wear, we still have value
Your old stories of your family show me the interconnectedness of us all, one large tree, supported by your roots
“Mother India, Mother India,” I call into the void,
Wishing you still were near to bring me back home
The wonders you have seen, the pain you have felt, the revolution and wars you have lived
Mother India was you
A woman older than the world, wiser than philosophers, more beautiful than the Taj
As one Mother leaves, the next generation takes her place,
Yet we never forget our ancestors
The ones who fought, clawed, and struggled for us
The ones who sacrificed their lives for us
You truly loved me
This much I know
You were a mother and grandmother
In more ways than one
You were my grandmother, but you were Mother India
You taught me to love my culture and you were my reason for going back to India
Your time had come and your daughters will take your place.
You were Mother India, I was Daughter India
My world is different from yours,
but the same values and lessons I hold
I miss you
But I know i have the same passions, the same strength, the same love running through my veins
like cataracts
on a grey old dog
a light fog lay over the low, amber moon
a stiff breeze blowing
but next to the ground only
so the layer of fog stayed put above
eerily ... hauntingly
I had walked the dirt road for miles
flat farmland stretching into the night
only one other barn had I seen in the last hours
crumbling into the October grasses
like salt into the sea
my car had broken down
but the weather being decent and only a few miles from destination
I had decided to walk it, but was getting weary
it came from behind, the voice
at first I thought I'd dreamed it, but ...
"I'm hungry" it whispered
clear as a fog horn despite the wind
I spun quickly, in reflex
for there had been nothing but corn stalks for miles
I looked - nothing there ... just corn
and the road fading into the darkness
I turned back around and continued my walk
"I'm hungry", again
whispered, yet unmistakable
I spun back, studying - just dead corn forever and ...
a scarecrow, between me and the moon, oddly
it wasn't there before, I thought, but I must have just missed it
in my own world walking ... thinking of home
it was an odd scarecrow, arms dangling in inhuman ways
pointed hat like a witch
face shielded in darkness
legs hanging backward and ...
did it MOVE??
that surely was my tired eyes, longing for sleep
better get going, thought I, so I started walking again
"I'm hungry!", again the ethereal but deadly clear voice
as though right beside me
I spun to it again, and nothing ...
then back to the moon and the scarecrow, only ...
the scarecrow ... was GONE ... just the four-by-four stake
where it used to hang, limbs akimbo
I picked up my pace, and after a while started to forget it
tired and weary, I just needed sleep, and passed it off as fatigue
thinking then of the warm hearth and bed awaiting me
how long it had been since I'd been home
how achy I was, how weary and hungry and ...
"I'm hungry!!"
that time it was in my ear and a growl ...
an evil, gut-tearing, hideous growl ...
I spun again ... just in time
to see the black, empty face
and the white, pointed, gnashing ...
teeth.
Home is where . . .
The heart and reason mould into one and the same mirror of harmony
. . . the Golden Mean and centre of gravity as long as life’s turns spin around
. . . where dents in the mind do not mind but care kindly about gaping gaps
. . . when time juggles dis-synchronous consolation in the face of chaos
Memories and anticipation caress the wayward traveller into the harbour
. . . the ancient light house guides pirates of doom into tender submission
. . . where hidden treasures are felt beneath a dented compass’ rusty needle
. . . when jubilation overwhelms caved in darkness at the point of confusion
Vision and hindsight blend ambiguity and opposites of fragile consonance
. . . the myopic lenses lead the way from afar towards what can be touched
. . . where shattered glass causes new puzzles and chards for luminous mosaics
. . . when an empty canvas is shredded but gives way to a collage of dreams
Deafness and laughter combine to a symphony of understandable voices
. . . the auricles are pierced and adorned with truths and rings of delight
. . . where an ear for an ear is not an empty promise but sharing the way
. . . when the few want to listen to an old man’s attempt of feeble wisdom
Bones creak on the spiral staircase and master the voyage downwards and up
. . . the attic hold enough trinkets and memorabilia for a flea market or two
. . . where moths in the cellar feed happily in symbiosis with trodden dust
. . . when paradise is being in love and sharing glow worms and outlooks
Home is when the Self is good enough and life’s companion is gratitude
A Golden Mean happy to eat from enamel plates one spoon and a tin whistle
Light shines through cataracts of wild water and cascades of living surprise
Nostalgia is a way forward on the path one step at a future step in the making
Shades of eye sight observe perceive reflect condense highlighting the soul
A child’s whisper registers more deeply than cacophony of ubiquitous hatred
And the bones of one’s hands can still read a book and write the odd poem . . .
17th April 2019
... stalactites hung like dystopian snot from a statue
her brain was frozen and formed ice in her mind
a lacuna without inlet or outlet arrested in time
mind’s skates tied up in bundles of snowflakes
gloves off for defeat with all speed set in arrest
not even her black woollen hat showed any signs
of thawing heart-warming emotions for comfort
empty speech bubbles covered her scraped tongue
where a mouth-watering waterfall should pursue
a pick axe with nothing left to dissect or construct
dangled from a callous corpus callosum in pain
unable to connect right left wrong or left to correct
this was not what searching tranquillity had promised
in contrast transcendence wept at chilly flood gates
a voice that had so much to part with in a landscape
of permanent layers of verglas onto vaporous rime
she wished for some slime or yuck glopping goo
but permafrost refused a glimpse of impermanence
a fool thought it funny to stick a carrot in her nostril
helpless she could not leave the vegetative state of affairs
clung to a string of crystal beads at pearly gates of no return
this is a lie I am Pinocchio at the threshold of truth
a metaphor unable to break the spell of apocalypse
unfulfilled amphora and vessel that can’t even leak
incontinence at the pointless orifice of evacuation
without one drop of hope for cataracts to dissolve
a lonely icebreaker with nothing left to crack open
where a firm skull should harbour my residual flow
when a polar bear embraced her unbalanced spectre
shared his white furry coat under a mantle of darkness
shales of introjection floated away from the solar eclipse
which had sheltered her from a charcoaled manic cauldron
touching middle grounds in between scorching euphoria
and lifeless apathy just long enough to remember that she had
not taken her medication and the self-help manual was useless
sometimes catharsis has to wait for one small lucid moment
when a beak meets a beaker and cascades start from a dribble
Thank you for sight,
Thank you for feel:
Each hue of light,
Words that can heal.
Thank you for love,
Thank you for light:
Grace from above,
Spirit moves sight.
Thank you for joy,
Thank you for time:
Love now employs,
Words set to rhyme.
Thank you for good,
Thank you for gains:
Touch fills each mood,
Sense pleasure-pain.
Thank you for life,
Thank you for touch:
Love conquers strife,
Now bears fond much.
Thank you for peace,
Thank you for soul:
Stillness and bliss,
A wholesome whole!
Thank you for tears,
Thank you for pain:
Faith edges fear,
Grace floods again.
Thank you for art,
Thank you for science:
Live wholesome heart,
True Spirit signs.
Thank you for more,
Thank you for each:
Grand, boundless store,
Abundant reach.
Thank you for zest,
Thank you for zeal:
Urge and life quest,
Fond heart and will.
Thank you for taste,
Thank you for touch:
I work with haste
Feelings that nudge!
Thank you for sight,
Thank you for smell:
Empathy lights,
Compassion tells.
Thank you for sound,
Thank you for feel:
Senses flood round,
Wisdom now heals.
Thank you for sense,
Thank you for thought:
Purge my pretense,
Watch beyond plot!
Thank you for day,
Thank you for night:
For work and play,
For zesty sight.
Thank you for health,
Thank you for more:
Life's precious wealth,
More attracts more.
Thank you for path,
Thank you for road:
Soul knows enough,
Wholeness bears load!
Thank you for light,
Thank you for truth:
I feel insight,
I see love's proof.
Thank you for mind,
Thank you for thought:
Ego lives blind,
Watcher sees lots!
Thank you for all,
Thank you for style:
I heed soul's call,
I discern smiles!
Thank you for "Now",
Thank you my Lord:
All You endow,
My Darling God!
Leon Enriquez
22 Feb 2014
Singapore
(Note: These verses were written in Nov 2008 after I had both cataracts in my eyes operated and new lens implants done. My eyesight was restored to full clarity for which I am forever grateful! For the first time, and ever since, I enjoy crystal clear eyesight. What a joy! Verse number 2 has become my everyday mantra.)
The lighthouse shivered in relentless gales on its rocky foundation
Stood the test of time but now it seemed that the clock had gone back
The keeper was sidelined to retire in the Sea Mission’s Nursing Abode
Had paid his fare and was reduced to cups of tea and mushy pea’s gruel
Once a pacemaker of modernity he quietly waited for dementia to settle
His heart was broken like the tower’s shattered beacon and Oliver sobbed
Tears flooded his kerchief with salty reminders of his ultimate companion
Waves of infinite tides swallowed his reason for being in cascades of pain
Cataracts pointed him inside with hearing aids hinged on precarious sight
The fragile walking stick had been bestowed by the Queen God knows when
At least that was his yarn which would not repair his threadbare cardigan
The callus on his weather worn hand had meta-morphed in soft baby skin
Be a good boy now and take your sedative pills they will rock you to sleep
Slowly fog horns of destiny sounded a creaky lullaby of reticent surrender
Once a trendsetter in dashing uniform and seafarer’s wind shaken attire
He could not even turn a famous blind eye to his room mate’s flatulence
But like clamshell lenses on a leap water catwalk he stood firm in defeat
Oliver’s lantern seemed vacant but a passionate fire kept raging his mind
Had they no respect for history had he not been the guardian of passage
Was he a spiral staircase with only one way to stumble on rusty descent
The counterweight well powered by gravity sunk like an anchor cut loose
Lightening rods flashed through his thoughts and he still could not sleep
But the night nurse had more important matters than ancient emotions
Pillows scratched his receding hair as the moon kept count of lost slumber
Once a bell whether of transit the old man felt the graveyard shift nigh
He wished he was a pirate and would sink his hook into pitiless crests
11th February 2020
footsteps aimlessly
walking on their trails
beaten down and broken
shiny as the rails
the rails of the train
over used and rusted
crumbling ignored
the system that you trusted
the silence of conformity
the quiet crying song
of people lost in apathy
monotony so long
the old man remembered
the booming days of old
and tried to warn the youngster
with stories he had told
the young man in the t shirt
can hear no warning cries
television cataracts
covering his eyes
commoners injected
with complacent misdemeanors
fed intravenously
from mass media feeders
the heretics will scream
with no one to hear their call
the working slaves will perish
society will fall
in the pulpit yelling
mystifying lies
sweating like a demon
with fire in his eyes
passing round a dish
to collect the workers' wage
saving souls ain't easy
so he sets a stage
profiting from fear
preparing them for death
comfort is a business
says his liquor breath
on the front row fanning
the woman says amen
waiting for the bell
so she can live in sin
forgiveness is a blessing
that god will give to few
surely she'll be one
when her life is through
the child in the classroom
with the curious mind
will be beaten and conditioned
until she too is blind
"trust in the system"
is the motto that they teach
"question nothing,
so higher you can reach"
the land of the free
the home of the brave
only for those of us
content with being slaves
some will stand on street corners
holding big white signs
telling of injustice
held beneath our sights
but those who throw the bombs
which burn society down
those will be the shakers
for true freedom to be found
but the sheep still continue
to justify their life
ignoring others torment
blind to their strife
perpetuating failure
selling bankers souls
to keep on consuming
to get the best remote control
to build themselves a shield
what kind of life is this
numbness is a virtue
and ignorance is bliss
In the Twilight of Her Tears
by Michael R. Burch, age 19
In the twilight of her tears
I saw the shadows of the years
that had taken with them all our joys and cares ...
There in an ebbing tide’s spent green
I saw the flotsam of lost dreams
wash out into a sea of wild despair ...
In the scars that marred her eyes
I saw the cataracts of lies
that had shattered all the visions we had shared ...
As from a ravaged iris, tears
seemed to flood the spindrift years
with sorrows that the sea itself despaired ...
Prodigal
This poem is dedicated to Kevin Longinotti, who died four days short of graduation from Vanderbilt University, the victim of a tornado that struck Nashville on April 16, 1998.
You have graduated now,
to a higher plane
and your heart’s tenacity
teaches us not to go gently
though death intrudes.
For eighteen days
—jarring interludes
of respite and pain—
with life only faintly clinging,
like a cashmere snow,
testing the capacity
of the blood banks
with the unstaunched flow
of your severed veins,
in the collapsing declivity,
in the sanguine haze
where Death broods,
you struggled defiantly.
A city mourns its adopted son,
flown to the highest ranks
while each heart complains
at the harsh validity
of God’s ways.
On ponderous wings
the white clouds move
with your captured breath,
though just days before
they spawned the maelstrom’s
hellish rift.
Throw off this mortal coil,
this envelope of flesh,
this brief sheath
of inarticulate grief
and transient joy.
Forget the winds
which test belief,
which bear the parchment leaf
down life’s last sun-lit path.
We applaud your spirit, O Prodigal,
O Valiant One,
in its percussive flight into the sun,
winging on the heart’s last madrigal.
Keywords/Tags: twilight, tears, years, joys, cares, dreams, sea, despair, lies, vision,
{This "Free Verse" entry Received HONORABLE MENTIONS
IN THE Intergenerational Poetry to Bridge the Generation
Contest UNO Elders & Youth track" 2017
UNIVERSITY OF OMAHA
OMAHA, NEBRASKA}
October 15, 2017
STILL HAVEN'T LEARNT THE ELDERS CONCERNS
Got older hope my live would be easier
But instead filled with societies " I told yaw so's"
High, low and no priced health care
Diseases, Alzheimer's, Dementia, Cataracts these are what the aged have
with other health issues and osteoporosis
Can't afford even the price of toilet tissue
still haven't leant elder concerns
still haven't leant elder concerns
Can't move as quickly can't race or jet
hard for me to get, get help
From family, church and so called friends
Rising cost of living;
Only the dead can afford?
There in a coffin their debts ignored maybe even forgiven
Friends most are as old as I am loneliness spending time with them and fam
means more than you think
wonderful wife/husband died gone on home to heaven
Alone more so than you think
Financial predators trying to sell me goods or services
they see me vulnerable
Grandchildren still sweet and loveable
I may be abused and neglected so unprotected
Aged eyes hard to see should I stop driving my vehicle
can't keep up with social climate changed computers, Tablets, Face Book
Twitter
Whatever happened to face to face, eye to eye communication?
What a nation?
They throw the elders away why the younger stay bitter
Again when will this nation learn?
They still haven't learnt the Elder's Concerns
09/26/17
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
submitted submission for " Intergenerational Poetry to Bridge the Generation Contest UNO Elders & Youth track" 2017
Here comes Joe. He is hard to look at. The poor man cannot lift his head. Joe suffers from Parkinson’s disease, severe osteoporosis, eczema and cataracts. Joe shakes and drools. He cannot walk and he barely talks. Things were not always so tough for Joe. At one time he was a healthy working member of society. Over the years Joe’s heath has deteriorated to what it is today.
What keeps Joe going? You would think that someone like Joe would just give up, stay in bed waiting to die. But Joe is a fighter. He fights to go to church every Sunday and worship God. It is the one thing he lives for. He claws his way into his wheelchair and after much struggle he finds his way to the exit to board the bus. He endures the harsh elements and the rough ride to get to church. Joe suffers the stares and rude comments of the people out in the public. He is oblivious to it. He does not care. He has one goal and one goal only and that is to get to church and worship God. Where does Joe get his strength? God is the answer.
If you take time to listen to Joe he will tell you how great God is. He is not angry and has no bitterness toward God for his maladies. While we do not understand why God allows some diseases to strike some people and not others, I do know God is using Joe as an example of suffering and the love of God. No matter what our condition in life is we can look to God for strength and he will help us to carry on thru our trials in life.
How insignificant my feeble problems are and how weak are my excuses for forgetting God. I pray that I will always have the strength and courage that Joe has when it is time to go to church and worship God. So when you see Joe, say a prayer for him and count your blessings. Pray that you do not face the burdens that Joe has. And if you take time to look and listen, Joe can change your life as he has mine.