Short Patronising Poems

Welcome…
Judgemental, Patronising, Fake adults
Mocking, Scornful Ridiculers   
Contemptuous, Disrespectful, Sneering Users…
Welcome Welcome to ripen to maturity....

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CHICKADEE

The term of endearment for a girl
Now dated slang and rarely heard
But around any lady it could swirl
Not so much the cute winter bird
But for some, a patronising word
...

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better in the darks
patronising words
to tell you
all those times
her whispers of because
peeled me to the seed
empty stops awhile
and darkness glints from edges
lifting dying swans nape
to share breath
touch of almost hasn't
and hold that does...

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A blot they want to wash, detergents do not work
Ineffectual, institutional and cover ups a stir
Excuses abound, squirming hierarchy found 
"Its just a darkie, why so narky"
The corridors would sound
It still goes on, gone several years 
Distrustful patronising leaders
A scurge we hope that does not surge 
To Nazi ways and olden days
Where races they would purge...

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Listen to poem:

Who are these folks we call people?
For want of names drawn from hat
   or drawn from lucky dip in remainder bin.
A set of folk not friend nor foe
   but unknown masses anointed as anonymous.
Prescribed to be, what we want them, to be
   just people, other people, strangers.
We can call them what we like.
We can say what we like about them
   good or bad, happy or sad.
Our gumption in presumption
   is patronising to people,
   just people....

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Who is disabled?
Is it me, or is it you?
Should disability be based
On an anatomical stock-take,
Or based on what you can do?

For I can climb mountains,
I can soar through the sky,
And I can slay dragons,
With just a blink of an eye,
I can overcome barriers,
Fight against impossible odds,
Ignore patronising glances
And condescending nods.

So who is disabled?
Is it me, or is it you?
It is completely subjective,
It’s just your point of view …...

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gripping the shards of memories
ignoring the bloodied emotions
why do we torture ourselves 
with that which we cannot change
 
these evocations
vivid
disturbing
invisible to others
but our élan spotlit
driven
instituting mostly patronising
eleemosynary projects
 
perfect recall
subject to
experiences dictated by
accident of birth
the authenticity of memoirs
tenaciously defended
but ravaged by
subliminal influences
a testimony to its perfidy...

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