Unaided Poems

The Walk of a Father

He paces through ardor. 
Ardor with scorched feet, 
Feet in fire for love, forged in blaze. 
Blaze that does not burn

Burn but brands his personality. 
Personality with resolution, 
Resolution hindering infamy. 
Infamy he swallows completely. 

Completely to make his son grow 
Grow uninjured, undefeated. 
Undefeated, he positions 
Positions at the pit’s verge, 

Verge where anxiety and destiny are vivid. 
Vivid is the quietness of ransom, 
Ransom as the price no one will grasp. 
Grasp how he risks the world. 

World where his boy might become open. 
Open to choose the trail, 
Trail avoiding him stagger
Stagger through the dark unaided.
 
Unaided as the father strides, 
Strides but shapes a trail through stone. 
Stone by stone, he builds a road
Road that is not bumpy but good and superb.
 
Superb becomes that man. 
Man who walks not for his grandeur
Grandeur as a guide his son’s hand.

Poem by Mugisho N.

These Scars

  My scars lives inside and out seems undetectable to
the unaided eye. These scars

Damaging effects traumas, pangs layers of scars one
may not understand, Me, Myself and I. These scars

Curveballs of epiphanies, tactics; Full of blindside's
thrown at me in all directions, now in distress and
torment wants to be friend me. These scars

Booby traps launched beyond one's control. These scars 

Questions often hovers over my crown why? I deserve 
these damaging effects. These scars 

Pondering should I throw in the towel? Almost held me
hostage, draining my will to press on towards my journey.
These scars

I'm no longer your prisoner set me free, So I can meet my
destiny, you no longer have power over me. These scars

THANKFUL FOR BLURRED VISION

Today I’m thankful for having eyes 
that left unaided cause my vision to be blurred…
No, this statement is not ridiculous, senseless or absurd

Because when things all blur together…
And I can’t always make out what’s there….
It’s easier within the blur
to see beauty everywhere.

Fireworks

Fireworks around the globe
Each a brilliant display
Marking end of one calendar,
Another New Years Day
Will this be the year 
the rich decide to give
A little of what they have
To help the poor to live
Fill the empty mansions
 relieve the constant stres
For least some those on
The streets and homeless

Will tax avoidance reduce
As they decide it’s only fair
The super rich contribute
Their proportionate share
Voluntarily decide to
Do their good deed 
So less may exist
In poverty and need.
The world settles down
To a stable lasting peace
As across the whole globe
All conflicts finally cease

The hawk defeated 
By the dove
As dreamers dream
And lovers love
Will it also be the year
Pigs, unaided, learn to fly
Politicians rule without 
The need to cheat and lie
No I suspect that things 
Will  stay just the same
More losers than winners in
The fight for survival game

Elderly

Please do not call me “elderly.”
My age may make me old
And if you met me, someone “senior”
Is what you’d behold.

Yet “elderly” implies, to me,
A person who is frail,
Who’s stuck in bed or couldn’t walk,
Unaided, on a trail.

Since I no longer dye my hair
Or wear a made-up face,
The years have settled in in ways
That time cannot erase.

Yet I’ve a while to go before
I’m “elderly. (I hope!)
I’ll acquiesce to “old” or “senior;”
“Elderly’s” a nope!

Sunflower

The sunflower stretched
With its stalk and its neck
As far to the sky
As it could – reaching high,
Pushing its golden face
With clumsy, awkward grace

Trying, with all its might
To reach the highest height
That it could ever muster
So it could be like Custer
Or like a grand ole redwood
(I think it thought it could)

It reached into the atmosphere
Inhaled the biting air
Looked about in wonderment
High above the firmament

But slender was its frame
It did not have the strength
To stand as so unaided –
It weakened, and degraded

It towered, then bent over,
It leaned a little lower
And found the earth up close
Had just as much to boast
As did the open sky
It wondered at up high –

And thereto did it stay
Forever and a day
A little bit hung over
As if it lost its lover

Or better yet, had found
Upon the hallowed ground
Some cosmic explanation
About its situation
Which held it in its thrall
High above it all

And made its hanging there
That much easier to bear –

The Real Me

I’m sitting at my keyboard
Just ranting and abusing
Which my long suffering wife
No longer finds amusing.
I’m both dyslexic and dyspraxic
Which is why I swear and curse
Because for a creative person that 
Combination  couldn’t be worse.

To make matters harder I Have 
a keyboard that judy can’t spell
And predictive text just
Can Make my life hell.
I bought a dictation programme,
Money very badly spent.
It just can’t cope with
My East Yorkshire accent.

So if my rambling is at time
More than usually absurd
Full of errors and  typos
And the odd little non word
Please be a little forgiving 
For what you are getting to see,
With all those helpers switched off
The unaided uncorrected real me.

Girls In White Dresses

I still have my own teeth,
My hearing's mostly unaided,
I still dream about girls
In white dresses with sashes,
But sometimes I feel
Out of sync and frustrated
When I wake up alone
And the fantasy crashes.
I didn't mind growing up,
But growing old's overrated.

Snowflake

Scientists strive for knowledge 
Just for knowledge’s sake:
Quietly,  and unaided, Nature 
Forms a perfect snowflake.

Education

I lied to do a GCE History
saying it was okay to proceed
on the adage of my Year Head
only then to get a grade A
Its hard to be unaided dyslexic
when I ask myself now
would GCE English Language
have been acceptable for an equal foray

Hand That Rocks the Cradle

She spoke little, but said a lot,
her face had wrinkles, eyes were hot,
she walked unaided, back straight,
demeanour gentle, royal gait,
how wisdom arms women of age,
true life drama on real stage!


Written 6/6/2022
8 syllables each line- 6 lines
aabbcc rhyme sequence
Bite size poetry contest 45
Line Gauthier sponsored.

Hooray For Saint Patricks Day

Hooray for Saint Patrick’s Day
Hooray, hooray for Saint Patrick’s Day
Hubby took steps unaided today 
It may be only two
But at last a break through
A shamrock for luck, we’re on our way.

* * *

17th March 2022

A Walk On Shallow Waters

A Walk on Shallow Waters
David J Walker

We are wrapped in paper and twine 
A perfect package on the outside
Left on the stoop of an irony 

Gathered together we are 
with candles and cake 

We are a year older and celebrate 
With feelings that need not be explained

We are one
	We are two
		We are three and more
And 65
just as well 
we could be one thousand 

We came not knowing the language
And fumbled with the implications of 
important customs that
mentors took great pains and 
extended time to explain

We learn not to laugh at the 
Paradox of platitudes invented for
special occasions

We hear each sound 
cued in hues  
of confused colors 

We see each virtue as it's on vice 

We celebrate the celebrities of 
Our own making

We walk on shallow waters 
Unaided

Navigator

Many accept things just as are,
Where so fate ferries, there they are.

They look for boat nor yet for oar,
But search for a navigator.

Their life seem Arundhati* star—
In a star string Ursa Major,

Too faint to spot, farther than far,
They try all life with it to spar. 

Holding ego’s little finger,
They lose, false promises when mar.

Believe me: you’ll stay as my star,
Long as our life’s journey goes far.

My trust not as much in a star
As in you, O my life’s Poll Star!
__________________________________
* Ursa Major is a constellation in the Northern hemisphere. It circles around the Poll Star and has seven stars representing seven sages. One of which is Vasishtha. Very close to it is a faint star representing his wife Arundhati. As is an old belief, if one can spot it with unaided eye, his eyesight is considered good. 
 
Musings |14.12.2021| couplets

Crossed Lines

Crossed lines 
 Why are quiet evenings not enough
the mind will not slow down or make sense 
in the blinking light of thoughts.
Wine is of no use the brain turns into ruby.
I must hurry, catch thoughts before they
turns into banalities.
The night waits for me to articulate the mystery of art.
I have to nail down words that are always
a bit paler than the ones thought of.
Once again, I have given birth to an ugly duckling
but I will not send them into the abyss of delete,
I will wait till they can walk unaided before sending
them into the world.

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