Subjective Perspective

A blow with a word strikes deeper
Than a blow with a sword 
Words are all we have 


Famously, frivolously, chitty chitty  
My girl says I make up words  
Sometimes I leave it blank, empty head in a room 


Meaning, this thing, "this thing" being my favourite line
Fills in the gap on thoughts, of  my missing words, read my mind 
Ok ok, time out, ours to hold, on hold, I remember word


Lets see, in pictures view  
Mirror, mirror, on the dictionary wall of words 
To whom is the word, best to behold 


This hold adds meaning in definitions expressed  
Thesaurus gives options, go on make my day 
On words to replace with, then with, them with  


Poets like big words, again with confusing conundrums 
As if methaphors are not  
Hard enough to decipher   


So brain works, brain food 
Brain storm, tic toc, tic toc,  sudoko
You should know by now


Already by now this is me ranting. 
But to t' point to be made, by now, on words with words
Chaos and order are two sides of the same coin 


So who holds order, ready in exchange for chaos 
Curiosity always gets the better of man in exchange 
I am heading towards order with word, patience,  me love 


The thing is, this thing is 
Poetry like abstract painting 
Needs subjective, perspective, rendition  


For the individual to make their own 
Mirror, mirror on the wall, this thing, with words 
Who is the most beautiful, of them all, to be used "subjective" 


Note: if you understood this poem, then you did better than I did

On Writer's Block

Sometimes I get tongue tied
Brain tied, caught in a smoke of fog
With no directional heads, like stage fright


Inspiration lost to the freak storm 
It blows me off course, at sea
And the stars have lost their way
 
Throwing tantrum, like my GPS on freeze
While Gypsies settle, and still demand to be called nomads
 Sometimes my mind just goes blank, like a blank sheet 


And wires plugged entangled are without power  
Of electric energy, they seat lifeless
Sometimes I am left with the writers block 


Bewildered, while ghosts lose their will to fright
On strike, on account of not being paid 
In the house of haunt, for work done


Sometimes I am bed tied, laziness, coziness, couch potato
Gather joy in indulgence, while still sat with frustration
Of the pondering mind, what can be done, what should be done 


This time the parrot is without words, 
Silence is bless, finally serenity 
Yet it seems all is not right, with tinkering minds 


And rain in rain forest becomes a rarity in the amazon 
Protesting on global warming, being taken for granted  
On too many scrambled papers thrown into the bin by conscience writers  


Some times, I am with the writers block
And the forest will hand me no more papers, on rationing 
To pen down my thoughts, set in abstract, on writers block


Still I sweat to deliver your daily dosage of
Enlightenment, poetry, demand a voice 
And my voice is to be the one heard, its a call


So sometimes I am left with the frustration of writers block 
While thoughts runs rampage in my head
Sometime it all just pours out, with no hold back  


Just when I think 
I am having a writers block 
What is that, a writers block? 

Dyslexia Disjointed

Don’t call me stupid
Don’t stare with bewilderment
To say as, say this, say in whispers heard
Mention a word and spell with ease


To check, and check and check again,
My keys, my phone, words spelling too
And still not see, where things do lie,
Where letters disjoint, in forming tête-à-tête 


Look and say; what's wrong with him
Its not by choice, am not a dunce
Don't patronise me so, gesture as jester
And call me stupid


I am, the word-smith, dabbler you came to know
I write, I utter and to you; thoughts provoke  
Such metaphoric connections, 
Your intellect bow to, in appreciation's gestures


In sing songs, such masterful sounds of music sang
In painting, always a master piece to hang
My speeches are moving, I utter with grace
Effortlessly in doing so, it brings smiles to faces


But then, in spelling bee, to have become lean
To spell they as there,
Their as thier, exact, as exert
Don't call me stupid, its not by choice


To my mind, its what it sees, and reads as so
Being forgetful is not by choice regard 
Sorry to have to ask, again again 
Your "name", your "name", please again 


To maths, I am brilliant, 
To maths I am not sometimes pulling out hair 
In my mind, its entangled in abstract
But don't call me stupid, its not by choice


For Information: http://www.fsc.yorku.ca/york/rsheese/psyc1010/wiki/index.php/How_does_dyslexia_affect_children_of_primary_school_age%3F