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Walking Stick Poetry - a few samplings from the interweb!

Walking Stick Poetry - a few samplings from the interweb!

Hannah - 12 Jul 2019 12:00:00Other articles...

Independence Days Copyright © Kai Michael Neumann
 Silvers strands line her hair like salt in an aquamarine ocean

Wrinkles shine in ripples on the quiet foreshore of hindsight

She dyed her hair blue today because she can

The engine still roars when she puts her walking stick aside

Mounts the quad bike and sails through the isles in the shop

A keeper of memories she sounds out her youth

Joints crackle the tune while she dances in rhythm and rhyme

Sings aloud from a mind set alight to a chorus of an angel

She never consulted for divine intervention

Close to the checkout the tattoo on her belly wriggles and chimes

A lip ring as long as a tear drop from heaven tickles her fancy

Firmly lodged in faith compassion and love

At the exit a watchman guards safe passage and kindness

And wonders what pills she is on to proceed with such joy

An unredeemable survivor of a rebellious soul

They call her a basket case but her crazy insanity keeps her together

Purple mascara and face paint are waiting for a final farewell

Just for today she will colour the shadows of her rainbow


My Old Walking Stick Copyright © Danny Nunn 

A old tree branch that had fallen to the ground
Polished it up, mended all the cracks, looking good as new
Now we can both walk


THE WALKING STICK  Copyright © Muhammad Safa Thajudeen
 A rich and monied man,
He is the village headman,
Poor his kindness to his fellow village men,
If one dies from his village he takes no pain,
He sends his walking stick in the hands of his servant,
But fails to walk letting his stick to do the work, 
Living long this man and died of age,
Aware his death the whole village,
No one turned to see his dead body,
They all collected sticks and sent to his house,instead,
A battle field like his house with full of sticks,
Tit for tat all what all learned but stick for stick a new lesson!


The Walking Stick Copyright © Viraj Shah
 "Louis!",she calls out.
Yes,ironically I am the namesake.
A signboard-Please don't hurt me.I'm blind.

"Are you lost in thought again?
You and your stupid world!"
My stupid world.
I see her bite her tongue in my mind.
A smile on my lips.

"I am so happy today!
Won't you ask why?"
"Need I?"
Such conversations are a mark of years of friendship.
Unbreakable.Apparently so.

"I am in love!
Oh how beautiful the world looks
The hues, colours.They have deepened.
I wish I could lend you my eyes,
Just so you could see this for me
I wish I could explain everything."

I attempt to seem excited.
But it hurts.
Is the pain 'cause she talks about colours, in mockery of my blindness?
Or is it 'cause she will be gone?
Anyway, pain doesn't come with a tag does it?
I wish it did.

I guess love is blind 'cause even she couldn't see-Reality.
No!It can't be as horrible as cecity.
I guess the lover is blind.
Do I?No,can't be,she's only.
I perceive it is how you long for something,
When you see it being taken away.
I should tell her what she means to me.
I never have.No I shouldn't.
I hate this darkness.I hate this world.

Is it monotony or monochrome?
That which incurs upon the world,
A blind man's curse; my curse.
Monotony I infer,
Cause I never have seen other colours.
Or is it because I never have seen other colours.
That I am anguished in my void.
That, has to be it.
Cause sameness,it’s part of my life.
A measured comfort.Measured in my steps,in my touch.
Change;I hate.

I should go for my evening walk,get some stale fresh air,like every day.
My stick isn't where it’s supposed to be.
Did I smell her perfume today or was it his?
Where is my cane?
How long has she kept this from me?
Ah!There it is.
No,this can't be.A crack!
Couldn't she have told me before? Maybe I never took her hints.
But I loved this stick. She gifted it to me.It was perfect.
I know every curve on it,Every dent.It fits in my hand perfectly.
I guess I should move on,she is happy.
I can't do with this stick.
No I can't do without it.
Can't someone fix it?
Damn You God.Damn you life.
I guess even atheists look towards Almighty
When they really are desperate.
Am I dreaming?
Is it a nightmare?
After all it is hard to tell when it's dark all the time.
Who kept that there?
Her bag.She must have left it when she came.
She forgets it so often.
A smile on my lips.




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