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…
Sixty-five candles flicker on a weary cake,
Dreams once vibrant, now shadows they make.
Rivers of promise run dry in the dust,
Hope’s fragile wings clipped by greed and mistrust.
The soil cries out beneath heavy boots,
While silent masses bear forgotten truths.
Voices echo in hollow halls of power,
Progress slowed, a wilting flower.
Yet beneath the scars, the ember still glows,
In hearts that believe, the nation still grows.
But time slips like sand through careless hands,
Nigeria waits—for dawn, not shadows, to stand.
Happy Independence Day Celebration Nigeria!
extravagant disgust
manifested by evil...outrageous
imbecile sacrilegious,
to torture the color,
to vilify nature,
to demonize the human...
With magnificent ramblas
but spirits so narrow, it
seems exponential, but
it's just spiritual retardation...
the pomp of wickedness,
rips in greatness
which should already be consolidated
after so long to evolve...
What a shame ! so much involution!
I see you every morning
skipping on your way to work,
a mundane task for anyone
but not you, it being your release
from your world of simplicity
and retardation.
I’ve often wondered what
goes through your mind, as
you search for the faces that
fit the scurrying movements
of your work mates, as they
dart about like misty forms
before your fragile eyes, your
unenviable task of groping for
your blue dot, it being the
prominent feature on your
clock card. It is easy to feel pity
for you, but not I, it is envy of
your simple ways, in this, an ever
increasing pressurised world,
because you’re always the same,
no matter what equations these
precarious days throw at us all.
Mathew, your gift is unique,
If one only had the time to ponder.
© Harry J Horsman 2020
"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~
Today my heart is obscurely tenebrous,
It no longer dances to your a cappella heartbeats,
Neither does it tune to the acoustic of your heart,
It has ceased skipping a beat in a fashionable art.
Today the virgin forest in my heart is murky,
The trees bow in retardation for a snooze party,
The rowdy rackety crickets have broken limbs,
The fire flies are devoid of signature fire on their backs.
Today the once dreamy ocean in my heart is calm,
Its soothingly beguiling waves isn’t your balm,
The coral reefs are deeply engrossed in a death sleep,
Sea demons are surprisingly afraid of the storm’s sweep.
Today the roses in my heart are dried and shriveled,
Its thristle thorns prickle can leave one crippled,
Their ambrosial scent has faded away dramatically,
For the roses are no longer minty, but dried stigmatically.
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!
Please take it away
I don't wan't it
My anxiety is getting worse.
I'm losing control.
I feel like dying suicidal .
I'm freaking out.
I can't calm down.
Someone please help me.
I hear noisy rackets.
I hear and witness dead people.
I see red blood on the floors.
I think I'm going to die in 7 days or more.
Am I'm dumb ?
Am I'm stupid ?
Why I can't be in love ?
Am I'm ill ?
Will I die anxiously in my resting sleep ?
Will death take me out ?
Pills don't help.
I wan't to be normal.
No retardation.
Just Normal.
My heart pounds and paces up faster and faster when I'm nervous.
It's killing me.
I'm suffocating.
My mind is ill .
My eyes are nearly blind when I'm squinting .
My arms and hands are shaking.
I can't be still.
Help me ?
Take away my anxiety
It's hurting me
Please !
What am I'm going through ?
What am I'm going through ?
Is it my worried some ?
Is it giving an attention ?
Will people help me ?
or they won't ?
My answer is Please take away my anxiety .
When you look at these two
Without having any clue
They go close side by side
Sometimes in one, the other hide
Its only time that sets the apart
And you realize why you have been hurt
For love has no such a quick stride
But in time it brings things to bind
And in the shadow of love hides the other
Never willing to take things further
For love is quiet when the other is roaming
Seeking for honor, pleasure and attention
It’s funny after all its retardation
That Love is there to remain.
join me now my friend,
as we swim through the crusted sand
let us study our sanity,
the retardation of being "different"
in this profound planet.
(what does soup mean to you?)
World without a spine
looking through nonchalant eyes,
glad I’m here, my final fling
to discard this broken body.
Children laugh to them I’m strange
no adult to treat me my age,
glad I’m here, my final fling
to discard this broken brain.
© Harry J Horsman 2010
Do you know what it means to be mental?
Of course not! We all just stare and criticize those who can't think for themselves.
Nor do we lend a helping hand.
We just stare and criticize.
We all know they don't have the same mental capacity! But cut 'em some slack!
It's not their fault that they were born like or developed like that.
Everyone can criticize on a blind man or a mentally ill person but when it's time to talk
to that man that can see and speak clearly we never criticize or talk back!
This is a very touchy subject don't you think?
Please, I beg of next time you see someone that can't speak clearly or looks like they
belong on the rode with clowns just ask yourselves, " What if that were me? Would I want
people staring and calling me names? "
No one should get hurt because of their disabilities, nor should anyone think that they're
better than the next because the Lord created us EQUALLY.
poem on Mental Retardation
Running rapidly reaching retardation
He hung himself which hindered his hope
Living life looking lethargically lost
many morals may matter
Forever forming fictional Fathoms
She sat singing sad songs
The tears trickled trivially
Mary marked many men maliciously
Mad maniac mary mourned
Slowly she slipped silently into sweet somber
Pancholi Nandlal Kanjibhai's Home Feedback & Suggestions
Poems By Pancholi Nandlal Kanjibhai
Category Date
Imagination 14-01-07
Email
[email protected]
Chromosomes of creeds having been replete with
Seeds of retardation in turn breed more and
More mongoloids of ethnic obsessions, hence
Engineers of genetics may ponder over removal
Of pathogenic germs and the defective sperms
From the colloid of contemporaneity.
And after that an era of equanimity would dawn
Where science would have been made to dominate
Politics, eugenics meant to succeed restricted
Homogeneous breed, color hatred and racial
Discrimination dismissed as obsolete relics of
Primitive past, polygamy officially replacing
Monogamy, world government superseding
Neurotic nation states and the whole world
Becoming a family in this would be world
Nuclear arsenals will become irrelevant
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