Long Retardation Poems
Long Retardation Poems. Below are the most popular long Retardation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Retardation poems by poem length and keyword.
"Birthed some 65 years ago
Born when retardation was a common fear-feared
captured gathered up like lost sheep or cattle
some medicated some placed in confinement
kept in the dark, people squawked at a lot",
~
"I was made the oldest, alto yet I was the youngest
I was his co-caretaker
Spent a lot of my grade school days..
The first 6 years staying home with him
While my mother and father worked
For you see my brother was born
Blind and retarded
And one month premature and incubator baby"
~
"My brother, yes I have a blind-man for a brother;
Where as with just one play of a song on the radio;
Retained it instantly, memorize simply, could sing it alone/along;
Musically could have easily have been another Stevie Wonder,"
"And with mom and dad both now been dead;
For longer than 30 to 40 years;
On this day I celebrate the birth of my brother
Joseph;
Blessed happy 65th birthday;"
~Joseph Allen Lee~
Deflected, crushed by the social retardation,
Not loved, ‘cos he’s altogether unaccepting,
Active learning the robot’s mouth action,
So he can't contextualise, there’s no blessing.
Neither me nor him meet and we sweep by,
There’s no connection from his ANDs and ORs,
Only citadels to weather the reactive cry,
When my nouns are pocketed by many cursors.
Where’s the memory bank and why the chat?
The bus is long gone and I'm open, vulnerable,
There’s no room for social construction’s mat,
To yield identity’s dynamic, recursive turntable.
Yes, microchips and logic gates shouldn't enable,
Machine learning at the cost of root foundations;
Your group, community, your niche and fable,
Ignite the necessary conversation of care situations.
Ok, so can we build a robot? A care robot?
Indeed care assistance is definitely reducible,
To only a small number of abstractions, clot,
‘Cos love does not evade the comprehensible.
Doors class as access, also pavements, steps,
Only three types of garments, two of people,
Friend or foe, but a cloud for certain parapets,
And who’s boss is said before, it's programmable.
Boy,
When all is said and done
Like a mighty uncanny wind to by pass
Let it not be ever a whistle thereof
When in youth you sprout forth
And be a determined shoot
To avenge the wrath of retardation
And in the light walk right
Avenge boyish dreams
And cast away the dilemma of hangovers
The salted myths of the dozed off giants
Or the imminent fear of extinct volcanoes
Let the future afore be cast sane
Or like a sea ashore
Sands of time ashore to beckon
And be a poor boy plays pebble plays
Then avenge your avid desires
And mould them into a dream to reckon
A force that unrolls the planet a tune
Zigzagged ways pulled right
Akin to this
Passion to grab a life of your own
For in this there is no mountain!
With the right of messianism,
And the depth of free will,
They journeyed to Bethlehem,
To hear the parents spill.
Zoroastrians true and ready,
Ripe for the monologue bold,
They offered gold and incense,
And on Mary’s story they were sold.
Called wise men, magicians,
They could interpret the land,
Jailing’s, fishing booms and births,
And so told people about their hand.
They knew the power of the stars,
The connection, their meaning,
So followed one to that lively abode,
Where Jesus lay with apparent feeling.
God did not appear to them,
By a star in vocality,
But they just gave cerebral relevance,
To that asteroid motioning entity.
The gifts they offered and gave,
Did not signify the incarnation,
But were considered gestures,
Of the magi’s visitation.
Their religion let them speak about,
The predicted life of the babe;
Prediction was their position and seat,
As at semiology they were abe.
Christianity did not come from Judaism,
Zoroastrianism was its predecessor,
As its followers searched for a messiah,
Every day, with such earnest vigour.
Christianity centres around a messiah,
A cultural saviour from social retardation,
Which Jesus was back them,
In a world of poor folks’ isolation.
Jesus was a Jew, a temple boy,
But proclaimed his own religion,
To follow him and not just the Torah,
Which was in no way old and gone.
The impact of these Zoroastrians,
On Israeli life and society,
Can only be understood,
As Christianity’s modernity.
I listen to the waves sighing,
like words seized from the weary,
an island that trembles
to the tune of every tide forged
with artificial aquamarines,
like accolades articulated
with aesthetic lies,
misleading the mindless,
ridiculing the rhythm,
as if we are all blindfolded ~
bleeding ballads of the broken,
borrowed from buried poets,
still breathing amidst their demise…
But if only they knew:
imageless imitation never
impressed the Imagists,
the ones who care
not for rhyme’s retardation ~
that sounds like absolute absurdity.
So tonight, as I write
with granite and garnet,
I long for perfumed light
to school the manipulated rules,
claiming to know it all,
sitting in their emptiness,
unaware of neither
what’s right nor wrong.
I am the unblemished;
I breathe not illusions
embalmed with poison.
I am original ~
a word that no longer is present
in the dictionary of the deceitful…