Long Crippled Poems
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In a dreary mood, bent and broken,
With an ailment that crippled my life
I lay bedridden for many a month
With every muscle weakened by arthritis
And every nerve radiating the pain
Dull were the days and sore were the nights,
Time slouched on in mechanical beats,
Mind devoid of any buoyant thoughts,
Senses shut to every cheery throb of life,
I lay awake, day and night staring at the ceiling.
Never a smile lighted up my face,
Nor a gleam of hope brightened up my brain.
Inertia crept over from head to foot.
I had long lost my zest for life.
With my life sap drained out like an empty well,
All I felt was the burn of scalding drought.
Nothing could move my grief laden soul,
None could lift the weight off my back,
Embers of fire sparked from the anvil of my heart,
Heaves of sighs escaped my parched mouth,
I wriggled and writhed in unspeakable pain,
My spirits sank deeper into a slithery marsh,
I saw around only a thick pall of gloom,
Or was it a projection of my own self?
Anguish gnawed my nerves and sinews,
Flames of pain danced within my spine,
I felt my head wobbling and reeling,
And the heavy weight of lead all around my neck.
Felt being pushed down to abysmal depths,
And the octopus tightening its tentacles all around.
“Who on earth will set me free?
What on earth can lift me up?”
With thundering force, the question shook my weary self.
I sprang to my feet and broke the binding chains,
I found I was but in self – exile,
A captive entrapped within boundless space.
I saw the door opening to infinite lengths,
And the arched horizon looming larger than life,
Unbroken, I spread my wings and propelled up,
And darted through the clouds to distant shores.
Who would have thought, my life would change this way!
(Own Story)
THE MYSTERY OF LIFE
A life full of mysteries and surprises
A life where daybreak doesn't guarantee sunshine
The priests places the sacrifice at his shrine
But bcos the gods are angry they are eaten by swine
Life full of mysteries and untold stories
Men with no honour live in houses built in storeys
Others live in slums and they give God the glory
This has been part of us and our history
Life full mysteries that makes them to complain
Many are stung and crippled by what they can't explain
They once live in hope and thought their freedom they'd gain
But to hope and wish is just another sting of pain
Life full of mysteries where we seek friends around the world
But we forget the the great ones and their words
Now we're smitten not by enemies but friends' swords
We fell and all before us to scale are great walls
Life full of mysteries from conception to birth
Deceived by milk today only to chew nuts at night
Carried on the shoulder today but a luggage on the head after
Clothed with the finest of fabrics made from the earth today and buried below same at dusk
Whether were live clean or dirty they bid us dust to dust
Whether we die in the scotching sun of the sahara or in the freezing hands of the Poles
They still tell us aches to aches
For the rich, the poor, the cursed, the blessed, the conquered, the winner, the victim and the victor
For the white, the black the dwarf, the giants and the stunted
For the kings and the subjects
We will all be a traveller in the city where the sun sets and never rises
This is our lots, the unending mysteries of life.
(FM CONCEPTUAL ???)
Your footsteps might disappear after a while
Your voice might go silent at times
Your needs will not be visible to others
Unless you voice them
Not everyone has the gift of reading between the lines
Not everyone listens to the gentle nudge life gives them
Unbeknown to others you might struggle
Your heartbeat might have gone faint
Your zest for life crippled
In those moments
Your maker has you under His wings
He is your protector
He might send a stranger your way
Or a long forgotten friend might look for you again
Not intentionally
But because He worked behind the veil
He knew you wouldn't get it if he sends a known entity
That's why he chose the people or things
You are not familiar with
Don't cringe at His choice
Embrace the comfort or joy they bring
©154316042015
In the cerulean fervent sky
my songbird of yearning soared high,
glided in the rippling amorous breeze
that wafted your fragrance to me,
until the splitting storm surged
and crushed the wings of longing.
The crippled bird lost the flight,
folded up the collapsed wings,
painfully wrinkled like fallen dry leaf,
drifting in the niche of my mangled mind
that turned into a ruined nest,
made of shattered stem called emotion.
In the frosty stillness of winter
the singing bird became silent,
its aborted flight of abandoned passion
could no longer find the sparkling sky,
tears froze in blue crevasse of glacial gloom,
the pain of broken heart congealed confined.
Someday under the bejeweled night sky,
traveling down the memory lane
you would remember me as a fading star
that lost its orbit and got sucked up
by the blue hole of dense despair
and disappeared from your sky forever.
October 30, 2021
Contest : Blue
Sponsor : Mystic Rose Rose
If People have a car accident
they can spend months in hospital
needing wages they depend on employers
yet companies can only afford so much
Society could do better
I'm don't like unemployment
where healthy people sit doing nothing
that is a waste of assets a waste of people
yet when people are injured in accidents
they should be able to get invalid benefits
until they are healed but then if they are crippled
and can't go back to their previous employment
We could train them for employment
Where they can survive and thrive
remember Stephen Hawkins
what an incredible man
Facing an illness that would have devastated
any other man he went on to become
a leader in his scientific field
because that is the path he chose to follow
The bible says in the parable of a good samaritan
"It is about a traveller who is stripped of clothing, beaten, and left half dead alongside the road. First a priest and then a Levite comes by, but both avoid the man. Finally, a Samaritan happens upon the traveller. Samaritans and Jews despised each other, but the Samaritan helps the injured man"
Your neighbor is the man
that takes care of your wounds
pays for your stay at an Inn
takes care of you as a person
Our Car accidents and disabled
are the people that need help
without the ability to work
and hold down a job they need support
but support should only be tempory
retraining to become independent
should be the ultimate goal
granted sometimes we can't
sometimes we can't fix a problem
sometimes an invalid
will never be able to get back into work
sometimes our society needs invalid benefits
yet having healthy people sitting on benefits
for their entire life is no good for them
and no good for society
it is an undeveloped human resource
They are assets that could be used
educated and encouraged
to become the builder's, electricians
and mechanics in the war on climate change
(The Japanese geisha Madam Butterfly
had a brief romance with an American
naval officer, whom she regards as her
husband, and whom she expects will
return to her. She is tragically mistaken.)
Oh, are you crying, son? But why?
It doesn't help to groan and grieve.
The only thing is to believe.
Believe with me, and watch the sky.
One fine day I'll see his funnel,
breaking the horizon's line.
That day is going to be so fine!
No more shadows, no more tunnels.
So manly in his clean white suit,
he'll steer towards my harbour wall,
earnest, eager, ardent, tall,
his cannon firing in salute.
Is this him now? I saw him first!
I won't go running down the hill:
it's better to stay seemly, still,
even though my breast could burst!
The lotus bloom, true to beauty,
must guard its dignity, serene.
My fate, to wait with gentle mien,
the passive, pliant geisha's duty.
Mistaken, am I? So, so, so.
Then we must steel ourselves, and wait.
One day, framed in the bamboo gate,
I'll see my husband. This I know.
Just when it seems it cannot be,
when crippled hope has left me weak,
I'll hear the bamboo hinges creak -
Lieutenant-San has come for me!
"Can you guess who's here?" I'll cry,
a-tremble as I smooth my hair,
no more foreboding or despair.
I'll run to greet him, nervous, shy.
American, and tall and brave,
he will call me "baby-wife",
and, just like in the other life,
I'll feel protected, nurtured, saved.
"My Butterfly, my forest fern,
my orange-blossom," he will say.
This will happen, one fine day.
You mark my words - he will return.
In the seamless sky of my fervent freedom
I let the enraptured songbird of heart soar high,
gliding in the spring-rippled amorous breeze
that carried your jasmine fragrance to me,
until the splitting thunder storm surged in
from your mirage horizon receding to obscurity,
wrench of desertion crushed the wings of love.
The crippled bird folded the collapsed wings,
painfully curled like destemmed dry leaf
in my mangled mind that turned in grief
a ruined nest made of emotion called twig.
The ruptured voice untuned the bird’s song,
disabled flight of subdued passion lost the sky,
chilled to stillness in the shadow of winter cloud.
Unshed tears froze in crevasse of glacial despair,
pain of broken heart languished unexpressed.
What of me in the end you remembered…
an impaled bird in deep blue oblivion,
it failed to fly in your sky.
Written : July 27, 2019
January 26, 2020
Contest : Strand Choice 6, Any Form, Any Theme
Sponsor : Brian Strand
Old means sudden pain of unknown origin.
Fluency of mind becomes like a foreigner.
Old means the circle has shrunk to a point.
Old is ignored, like a newly minted orphan.
Old is when the glitter of friendships fades away.
The aloofness of acquaintance retreats into its haze.
Old is a black-veiled wolf cooing like a virgin sage.
Old is the white crow cawing down the final days.
Old is dusty gray and a mountain lake so cold...
The crippled myth is that it's crafted out of gold.
Old is infinite goodbyes and infrequent hellos.
Old inhales its ashes, then is etched onto stone...
Old is both a satin blessing and a burlap curse.
After all, we could have perished well before our birth.
Old is not for the thinly veined nor the pastel-hearted.
Old recalls that wide-eyed child curled up inside the dark.
Ripping nostalgia right out of my veins
Crippled curtains living in psycho domains
We demolished this city not just this city the World
I can't live slow enough to get to pretend
People go crazy and the next day all mends omens
The trenches I call home
They said a 15 year old couldn't drive
I Showed them
My mom said I'd never amount to nothing
I'd say nothing is better than a bull life
I know my age by the release date of a LP
I answer to any name you can call me
People complain about the weather
I say follow the path to better toils
I got my digs in 6 feet of soil
Its a humble abode
Its where they want me
Out if the public eye
My home deep in the trenches
Sure let's walk down memory lame parking lot paradise
Check out where the best bar used to be
Some gangster slog slinging brass
Torn it down
Saying stick all the memories up your es
I got al the lowdown
Creatures who stole out right our past features
Playing domino's getting high while some great band plays on
Best you tear up that joint yourself
Cause money shakes the moments foundations
Money is robbing us
Our memories liquidation
Its a humble abode
Its where they want me
Out if the public eye
My home deep in the trenches
The rocks tripped me; I trod forward, upward to my lesson.
The winds choose not to make its presence felt, yet.
The sun bursts gloriously into the flat, baby-blue, sky.
The red brown earth held its moisture greedily.
The effort shows in pulse and perspiration,
a flush blooms on cheeks unused to color.
The house appears abruptly, from a froth of greenery.
The wind keeps its distance, as if sensing
its presence was not desired.
The golden sun valiantly
attempts to breach the houses gloom.
The guardians of house, home, and ether, leap forth.
as stone griffins, stern, etched by acid rain, stand;
earthly hounds dart wraithlike
through clusters of cluttering tomes,
and out the door to greet me.I enter.
The plaster shouts syllables, displayed in a military bent.
The house hungers for light, a broom,a feather duster fright.
The corner china cabinet displays a human skull.
Into this room walks the spirit of air, scared by storm.
God’s sacred light leaps.... only in the instructors eyes;
from crippled form, blue orbs full of mischief and the joy of flight,
reveling.... a wounded Aphrodite smiles.