Poetry competition CLOSED 16th September 2018 5:53am
WINNER
Bonzi
Bonzi
RUNNERS-UP:
brokentitanium
and SatInUGal
Parents Vent
MILK ON EVERYTHING
Dedicated to my son Auryn
And Ziola, the cat who licked up the milk
Milk on the table
Milk on the sweater
Milk on the cat
Who purrs when you pet her
Milk on your blanket
Milk on your shirt
Milk on my boots
Right next to the dirt
Milk on your hands
And milk on your toes
And milk on your face
Right under your nose
Milk is on
So many things
It is true
But the best place
For milk to be
Is in you
And Ziola, the cat who licked up the milk
Milk on the table
Milk on the sweater
Milk on the cat
Who purrs when you pet her
Milk on your blanket
Milk on your shirt
Milk on my boots
Right next to the dirt
Milk on your hands
And milk on your toes
And milk on your face
Right under your nose
Milk is on
So many things
It is true
But the best place
For milk to be
Is in you
Written by SatInUGal
(Kumar)
Go To Page
YOU DON'T NEED TO APOLOGIZE FOR PUNCHING ME
There are times when I think
you're mad at the universe
for having allowed you to be born.
Then I remember that
this is just a tantrum,
and you are three.
you're mad at the universe
for having allowed you to be born.
Then I remember that
this is just a tantrum,
and you are three.
Written by SatInUGal
(Kumar)
Go To Page
BECOMING GROWN-UPS
We lay
Like the desert
And pour
Like monsoons
We keep it tied up
Like a secret
As we put the kids
To bed
Like the desert
And pour
Like monsoons
We keep it tied up
Like a secret
As we put the kids
To bed
Written by SatInUGal
(Kumar)
Go To Page
WHAT AM I ANGRY ABOUT?
It is not
The stagnating piss
Under the seat that I cleaned up
Nor is it the drawer that sticks
From all of the estranged
Tupperware lids
No
(Though that can be
Infuriating at times)
It is not your mother
Busted feeding you sugar
Late at night
(Maybe it should be
But I didn't even know about that)
What am I angry about?
I have no idea
The stagnating piss
Under the seat that I cleaned up
Nor is it the drawer that sticks
From all of the estranged
Tupperware lids
No
(Though that can be
Infuriating at times)
It is not your mother
Busted feeding you sugar
Late at night
(Maybe it should be
But I didn't even know about that)
What am I angry about?
I have no idea
Written by SatInUGal
(Kumar)
Go To Page
A Father's lamentations
Weeping will not do you any good
You stupid son of a bitch
You have done everything against God
teaching, Faggot, you backdoor loving bastard
If you have not been born
If your mother had an abortion
To scrap you out of her womb
No, to erase you obilerate you
You would not be here
In this hospital with that tube in your face
Do you know, I looked for you every where
In the back lane of this sweltering city
Looking into descrepit houses
Into garbage dumps, praying that I
would see you there, find you
even in rags and bring you home
I prayed in churches in parks
In open spaces that I might find you
and bring you home
Even if you did not want us
You left, you little whore-man
without telling your mother
that you left with another man
a faggot he was and so are you
You never said anything to us at all
You just left, bringing us sorrow
and grief before the eventual
would that we grieve for your death
clean death, o dear God, clean
But this? This I cannot stand
How did you become this?
You were my son, so beloved of mine
I remember the first few toys I bought
Darth Vader, Godzilla, robotman
You loved them all then
although you spent your mother's
lipstick on them
The bicycle, remember it?
You painted it with pink hearts
Remember?
Remember the swing under the linden tree
where I pushed you and you sang
that song about the banana man?
Oh my son, my son what changed you?
Can I even get to understand
why you changed? Even your name?
From Billy to Bella, isn't that insane?
And here you lie, eyebrows plucked
like a thanksgiving turkey...
I cannot understand why..why?
Your face pale with oozing pustules
Your lips cracked, your eyes sunken
Your voice is gone, your hands skeletal
You breath rattles you stink of death
Oh my son my son, I will wait with you
if only I could fight the reaper with my fists
for you my son...
But no, I can't , so I bid you good rest
drink this concoction now, it will make you sleep
Nightshade will bring eternal night to you
Good night My son.
You stupid son of a bitch
You have done everything against God
teaching, Faggot, you backdoor loving bastard
If you have not been born
If your mother had an abortion
To scrap you out of her womb
No, to erase you obilerate you
You would not be here
In this hospital with that tube in your face
Do you know, I looked for you every where
In the back lane of this sweltering city
Looking into descrepit houses
Into garbage dumps, praying that I
would see you there, find you
even in rags and bring you home
I prayed in churches in parks
In open spaces that I might find you
and bring you home
Even if you did not want us
You left, you little whore-man
without telling your mother
that you left with another man
a faggot he was and so are you
You never said anything to us at all
You just left, bringing us sorrow
and grief before the eventual
would that we grieve for your death
clean death, o dear God, clean
But this? This I cannot stand
How did you become this?
You were my son, so beloved of mine
I remember the first few toys I bought
Darth Vader, Godzilla, robotman
You loved them all then
although you spent your mother's
lipstick on them
The bicycle, remember it?
You painted it with pink hearts
Remember?
Remember the swing under the linden tree
where I pushed you and you sang
that song about the banana man?
Oh my son, my son what changed you?
Can I even get to understand
why you changed? Even your name?
From Billy to Bella, isn't that insane?
And here you lie, eyebrows plucked
like a thanksgiving turkey...
I cannot understand why..why?
Your face pale with oozing pustules
Your lips cracked, your eyes sunken
Your voice is gone, your hands skeletal
You breath rattles you stink of death
Oh my son my son, I will wait with you
if only I could fight the reaper with my fists
for you my son...
But no, I can't , so I bid you good rest
drink this concoction now, it will make you sleep
Nightshade will bring eternal night to you
Good night My son.
Written by Grace
(IDryad)
Go To Page
To Oochie Wally
I’m sorry for the times I screamed,
For the times I didn’t understand our genes,
Because in the beginning I didn’t know there something was wrong,
When you kept repeating everything you heard and went along,
Echoing every word I said,
Echoing every word I said.
Oh, your face.
I remember that time we sat in the restaurant,
When the band started playing right up front,
And even though I knew the music was loud,
You started crying so hard in the crowd,
I didn’t know what was wrong,
I didn’t know what was wrong.
Oh, your tears.
I recall the times I had to take time off work,
Because in kindergarten class they thought you were a jerk,
You just wouldn’t listen to the teacher,
But we didn’t know the features,
It was like you were trapped inside a prison,
You had the classic signs of autism.
Oh, your eyes.
I thought “No, not my son, how can this happen to me”,
But it wasn’t about me, it was about solving the puzzling mystery,
It was about seeing the world through your eyes,
Because in discovering you I would be able to sympathize,
And then understand you more,
And then understand you more.
Oh, your smile.
I know that your mom and I couldn’t work it out,
But I had to heal to deal someway or somehow,
Because I looked back and I thought,
There were many reasons why we fought,
I too was on the spectrum,
I too was on the spectrum.
Oh, my reflection.
Forgive me for not being a better father in those days,
I made my choices and that took me farther away,
But the short time we spend together fulfills my heart,
Even though we so spend so much time apart,
And that what gets me inside,
And that what gets me inside.
Oh, my tears.
I’m sorry I pulled away as the years flew by,
But there we many nights when I’d cry,
Thinking I should’ve been better, written you more letters,
Calling you or texting you saying “Son I’ll love you forever.”
But then I hear you say the same words,
But this time you’re using your own words.
Oh your smile.
I’m sorry for the times I screamed,
For the times I didn’t understand our genes,
Because in the beginning I didn’t know there something was wrong,
When you kept repeating everything you heard and went along,
Echoing every word I said,
Echoing every word I said.
Oh, your face.
I remember that time we sat in the restaurant,
When the band started playing right up front,
And even though I knew the music was loud,
You started crying so hard in the crowd,
I didn’t know what was wrong,
I didn’t know what was wrong.
Oh, your tears.
I recall the times I had to take time off work,
Because in kindergarten class they thought you were a jerk,
You just wouldn’t listen to the teacher,
But we didn’t know the features,
It was like you were trapped inside a prison,
You had the classic signs of autism.
Oh, your eyes.
I thought “No, not my son, how can this happen to me”,
But it wasn’t about me, it was about solving the puzzling mystery,
It was about seeing the world through your eyes,
Because in discovering you I would be able to sympathize,
And then understand you more,
And then understand you more.
Oh, your smile.
I know that your mom and I couldn’t work it out,
But I had to heal to deal someway or somehow,
Because I looked back and I thought,
There were many reasons why we fought,
I too was on the spectrum,
I too was on the spectrum.
Oh, my reflection.
Forgive me for not being a better father in those days,
I made my choices and that took me farther away,
But the short time we spend together fulfills my heart,
Even though we so spend so much time apart,
And that what gets me inside,
And that what gets me inside.
Oh, my tears.
I’m sorry I pulled away as the years flew by,
But there we many nights when I’d cry,
Thinking I should’ve been better, written you more letters,
Calling you or texting you saying “Son I’ll love you forever.”
But then I hear you say the same words,
But this time you’re using your own words.
Oh your smile.
