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Best Crazy Poems

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Wild crazy happy by Raynes, Lewis
life crazy by labeau, catherine
Crazy hurt by Alzadjali, Fatima
Going Crazy by Zayas, Chelsea
McDonalds Crazy by williams, john
Am I Crazy by duggan, peter
CRAZY COOL by Enriquez, Leon

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Details | Crazy Poem | |

Frozen Noose

Anxiety    (The Worst Noose In Town)

-- like flooding waters, creeping in
I count 30, seconds, holding my breath again
Drowning in agitation, overwhelmed by fear
I try to hide the pressure in hopes I don't pass out
My pores are soaked, from all the perspiration
I feel the pins and needles pushing in
My skin is ruined from all the peeling
At this point, I can't seem to win

Washed out by dead hope and desire 
My soul is lost searching for a shore
leashing, grasping and ripping the chest wide
I count 40, seconds, once nausea can't be blocked
Everything about this moment is driving me mad,
I need to escape, however, my knees are too weak
I tremble while losing control to the emotional distress
My knuckles are pale, detached from reality,
wounds forced with further embarrassment.
Guaranteed failure surrounds my day
Numbness strikes my very essence - I can't move!

Lost in a room, 
Therapy - even so I feel singled out


HAPPY VALENTINES (it can get the best of us)  
---------------------------- love Linda

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2016


Details | Crazy Poem | |

ATOP LOVE'S MAD MOUNTAINS

ATOP LOVE’S MAD MOUNTAINS

To fall in love is truly gleeful gladness
Which has one scaling the mountains of madness
But how does one get to the top of insane?
Do you fly straight up or zigzag a slow lane?
Would you sit a while to wile at the matter
Or stumble headlong, as mad as a hatter…

Now, I think that the fates simply pluck two souls
And plop them atop a random peak to roll
Balls rubber bouncing from dazed highs, head o’er heels
Tumbling o’er varying facets, a dizzying reel
Topsy turvy turning or dipping in slumps
Free-falls off sheer cliffs or hitting rocky bumps

This rollercoaster ride’s not for the weak heart
Who from level ground never wishes to part
For passion’s insanity will have you soar
Past the loftiest peak, till your lungs implore
In the thin blue air you’ll die, then skydive down
From heights so zany, you laugh, yell, scream, a clown!

Alas, the pull of gravity is mighty
Sure as the fall from the apex, snow whitey
Where feelings held tight, once cozy and lovely
Loosen their security, turning ugly
You have reached the mount bottom, or so you think
Rolling, you teeter off a cavernous brink

Down, down, down, you are now in the darkest pits
Your fire, now mere ember, pieces and bits
Memories you ponder in the cold and dank
In dark’s abyss, you see much of which to thank
Crazy tempests did sharpen your senses true
Love’s depths strengthens; perseverance is your due

Fuming within hell’s fury, your flames reheat
Energies renewed, you bounce back on your feet
For heaven’s delight, still beckons from on high
Chemistry’s residue still lingering sighs
Upward bound, a trek begins, leaving sadness
Slowly, hearts ascend the mountains of madness.

(5/17/2016 – Masnavi for Timothy Hick’s contest)

Copyright © Sun Woods | Year Posted 2016


Details | Crazy Poem | |

Unloved

She cocooned herself
Spinning the thread tightly
Around her troubled mind
Knowing out there
Out there were the people
Who watched her unwind
Who could not be kind
Losing ground
Every day
She fought to stay
Sane
Untouched by pain
She cocooned her mind
Her weak troubled mind
With layer after layer of silken threads
Threads of self defense
From a world
Who only loved to see her dance
And smile
And play the fool
For a while
From a world who couldn’t bear
To see the raw pain that was there
Behind the pretty face
And the bewitching eyes
Were the jagged lies
The mirrors into a soul
Incomplete...not whole

Unloved
Unwanted
She was too much trouble
Complicated
An emotional drain
They comforted the physical pain
Yet feared the mental pain 
They could not understand….

"Sh…….keep it a secret"
She told herself as she spun away
"For now….
Play the game
Play everyone’s game
Give them what they want
Whatever it is
Give it to them
Maybe they will learn to love you
Maybe they will see the beauty
Hiding behind the beast
Waiting for release...

No....you know better
They have no eyes to see
So dance....dance....alone
In the quiet of the room
Where there is no one to pry
Or see you cry
Dance alone
Live alone
Breathe alone
Alone
Alone
Hate the world
Hate them all
They deserve it
Damn every single last one
Whoever walked away
Leaving you cradling your throbbing head
Afraid of their own monsters
They keep you at bay
Vulnerability not their game to play
Damn them all
For not loving you enough
For not being tough enough
Weaklings one and all
EVERY SINGLE LAST ONE
Unable to be strong
To carry you along
When you are weak
Unable to think
Unable to speak
Unable to breathe
Unable to muster the courage to live
Unable
And unloved
Finish what you've begun"…..

She spinned the threads tighter… tighter
The cocoon complete
She fell asleep
Her last thoughts
The bitter knowledge
That she would never awake
Transformed
Knowing this would be her tomb
For she was never meant to be
A butterfly…
A beautiful airy creature of the day
Loved by everyone in every way
She closed her eyes
And slipped away
Unloved....

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013


Details | Crazy Poem | |

Little Miss Spring

They say it's a time to slip in the mud, and begin anew.
Kick off the dust of yester ...
      and put on the dress of Yes Sir! and Thank You Ma'am
She sure is a joy      This baby little season
And like moths to a flame we praise her name

(we don't need a reason)

And who can blame the helpless admirers
trigger happy on their Kodaks
drunk with Marigold Merriment.

No matter your profession, everyone's a poet,
when spring comes along, like a child, showing off her dandelion face,
believing in her curious way that death has been conquered.

But reality comes in firehouse red,
with silver sickle blades that say, No can do, Little Miss Spring,
not every bird, on every branch, has a song to sing.
The fact of the matter is ... you're just another three months
(Winter? Autumn? They're simply taking an overdue lunch,
but they'll be back with the same fire      The same ice)
Hate to break it to you, Sweetie, but not everything nice
is destined to remain (it's a cyclical thing ... you understand)

You can bet your slender green stem
even Little Miss Spritely has her down days,
but like teenage hysteria     it's just a phase

(we can just pretend those zits are poppies
they smell fragrant enough)

And yes of course      It's a time of LOVE!
Young and Fresh --- Tongue and Flesh
like good ole Elmer Fudd would say

(bweeding like wabbits)

Oh Little Miss Spring, surely you can't have everything!
Green grass and blue sky --- it's halfway sickening
the way you steal the show with your sunny splendor.
And Poor Old December ... you left him in the cold,
bragging up your warmth and innocent demeanor

(I saw what you did to the snow)

It can all be forgiven though      Truly it can!
I know it might feel like I'm freezing you out

            (but all the cool months are doing it)

... 'tis no excuse      you saw through my ruse
I'm just killing time before the Melancholy Mob
comes back into town.
Remember how they used to hang around Stick in the Mud Lane
poking holes into your joy?

(they annoyed me too)

And what became of the pessimists, the argument-ists,
the I-don't-believe-in-all-this kinda crowd?
Are they all hibernating somewhere like Mother Grizzly?

(If you ask me they can take all advice from this soda pop
fade and fizzly)



Written March 15th, 2016
For the Spring Contest Hosted by Catie Lindsey

Poem of the Day: March 18th, 2016

Placed 8th

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016


Details | Crazy Poem | |

Voices in my head

I see things in my dreams
Aliens then screams
Government, terrorists, spies
Ghosts, ghouls, monsters, lies
They are coming in my sleep
I can’t scream, not a peep
Fireants in my brain
My voices make it plain
Life isn’t as it seems

I ain’t gonna lie
I got problems
Don’t deny
Should be locked up
Outta my mind
I know I’m crazy
But maybe that’s just me
Don’t judge me by the outside
See inside I’m terrified

Locked my heart threw away the key
Locked it up so they can’t see
Its breaking loose
Can’t set it free
Can’t keep it close
Can’t let it be
I try to find my sanity
But somehow that’s just not me
My brain thinks differently

I ain’t gonna lie
I got problems
Don’t deny
Should be locked up
Outta my mind
I know I’m crazy
But maybe that’s just me
Don’t judge me by the outside
See inside I’m terrified

Others see a different world
Without the fear of dreams unfurled
Broken hearts, shattered screams
My insanity becomes a reality
That only I can see
My reality is the insanity
Deep inside of me
Until I set it free
I will never see with clarity

I ain’t gonna lie
I got problems
Don’t deny
Should be locked up
Outta my mind
I know I’m crazy
But maybe that’s just me
Don’t judge me by the outside
See inside I’m terrified

I just gotta set it free
I just gotta be me
The world wants me to hide
They just gotta realize
That I am truly crazy
And really that’s just me
I am finally set free
To find my sanity
In insanity

I ain’t gonna lie
I got problems
Don’t deny
Should be locked up
Outta my mind
I know I’m crazy
And I know that’s just me
Don’t judge me by the outside
See inside I’m finally alive

Copyright © Heather Secrest | Year Posted 2014


Details | Crazy Poem | |

The Fool

The Fool   (Octodil)


Fool that I am
I roam alone,
A ragged vagabond
Unaware of perils
That haunt the obscure paths of life;
Into the unknown I wander
Led by exuberance ...
A trump card up my sleeve.

-----------------------------------------
Author: Paul Callus ~ 31/01/2015
Contest: Tarot Cards
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Placed: 2nd

Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015


Details | Crazy Poem | |

Sarah's Story - Mental Illness

Sarah’s Story - Mental Illness
Sarah, the “Crazy Lady,” was a familiar sight, roaming the streets any time of day or night. Her foul body odor announced her presence, as she paraded around in her filthy, smelly garments. Walking barefoot regardless of the weather, in her state of mind, she couldn’t do better. Children teased and made fun of Sarah, reciting ridiculing ditties, adding to the drama. Behind her a lively entourage would follow, taunting and calling her names creating a sideshow. They howled with childish laughter, as Sarah hurled angry profanities after. An avid collector of all kinds of trash, she transformed her abode into a garbage stash. Sarah’s odd behavior made her fair game, to unkind people who had no mercy or shame. While many folks turned a blind eye, young boys threw rocks and other missile, at the roof and windows of the shack she occupied. Behind bushes, they would scamper away to hide, as Sarah furiously dashed outside, brandishing a machete, cudgel, or broom, screaming out curses, damnation, and doom. Like a cancer, her mental illness had devoured her brain, and before long, she was officially "certified insane." Most agreed it was for her own benefit, and for the good of society to be rid of this "misfit." But even though she was locked away in an institution, no psychiatric treatment could cure her mental condition. When Sarah finally died, she was unloved and alone; her passing was hardly noticed, and she was mourned by none.
Note: This piece was inspired by a true account. While we have made great strides in the study of mental illness and understanding it, unfortunately negative attitudes and beliefs toward people who have mental health conditions are still common. Thus, as a society, we still have a long way to go to improve our attitudes and to show more caring and compassion for those who suffer from various types of mental illness.

Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2015


Details | Crazy Poem | |

Our Boogeyman

Listen to poem:
Our Boogeyman


There is a boogeyman within
this home of ours, we swear he's here!
He comes and goes to mess with us
and bring about a silly fear.

It happens if we're here or not; 
he seems to go from room to room
to keep us guessing why we see
phenomena that brings such gloom.

It has to do with lights, you see,
the kind you touch to turn them on;
somehow this boogeyman knows how
to toy with us, and whereupon,

we find our touch lamps brightly lit
in rooms, we enter while we're there. 
But worst of all, to find them on
when we've been out, and such despair,

to wonder how that comes about??
For sure, it doesn't make much sense.
Do boogeymen have fingers that
can generate capacitance?


May 24, 2016

Contest: Boogeyman
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Read: By Author 
True Story!

"Touch-sensitive lamps almost always use a fourth property of the human body -- its capacitance. [kuh-pas-i-tuh ns] The word "capacitance" has as its root the word "capacity" -- capacitance is the capacity an object has to hold electrons. The lamp, when standing by itself on a table, has a certain capacitance. This means that if a circuit tried to charge the lamp with electrons, it would take a certain number to "fill it." When you touch the lamp, your body adds to its capacity. It takes more electrons to fill you and the lamp, and the circuit detects that difference." http://science.howstuffworks.com

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016


Details | Crazy Poem | |

Captain Crunch


Captain Crunch is out to lunch,
sailing the high Seas of Thorazine(150cc).

He spends half the day serving invisible tea
to the make-believe Peters of his conspiracy.

When roiling waves slap the hull,
the marbles in his skull, clink and clank, 
roll out his ears, then walk the plank.

He rants and raves,
he sneers and jeers,
he bellows-out bellicose boasts.

He sees images of Peter in nearly everything;
in the clouds, in the sails,
he even sees images of Peter in his toast.

And just when Captain Crunch believes 
he's made some headway in the hunt,
he shakes and heaves
when he sees an image of Peter
reflected in the cabin's mirror,

seemingly mimicking his every move,
leaving the Captain, utterly confused.



February 28th, 2014



A Peter Pan Production © 2014


+/-

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2014


Details | Crazy Poem | |

Hook Line and Sinker


Me, my brother Tom and Uncle Pat were on a fishing holiday
three men in a rowing boat way out in Dublin Bay
we anchored up and cast six rods over a sunken wreck
hoping for the catch of our lives to haul onto the deck
hours passed with the floats just bobbing up and down
Tom fell asleep and Pat sat watching with a frown
a ferry passed by and the swell nearly made us capsize
as I held onto the sides Pat stood there with staring eyes
his float had gone and the rod had bent double
I woke Tom up and told him we were in trouble
Pat grabbed the rod and with all the strength he had
he struck the line which went straight down, oh man this was bad
the boat began to list quite far and water was gushing in
we started bailing out, but Pat held firm he stood there with a grin
he had a bite that was pulling hard the line shot under the keel
only one fish had the strength for this, it was a giant conger eel
Tom rummaged through the tackle and handed Pat a knife
we shouted ‘cut the line’ or this fish could take a life
but he heaved and reeled then shouted ‘get the gaff’
we saw his head and great big teeth and said ‘you’re having a laugh’
Tom grabbed an oar and whacked it’s head, the oar it broke in two
Pat’s foot was in the firing line and the eel snapped at his shoe
the eel it thrashed; we kicked and lashed the eel half out the boat
but the eel was having none of it and was going for Pat’s throat
the screams were heard by other boats who came to our rescue
the next we knew the eel was dead killed by god knows who?
a harpoon in it’s head stuck out and we were showered in blood
Pat saw blood gushing from his foot, then fell with a sickening thud
we climbed aboard the other boat, the eel it was their prize
we lost our boat and rods, half a shoe plus two toes, It’s the truth, I tell no lies….

© 21/2/2014

For Caleb's Contest...Now it has been judged I can say it is all true....

Copyright © David Williams | Year Posted 2014


Details | Crazy Poem | |

Paranoid love

Tell me that this fear is just paranoia in my mind, 
we're not straining, we're not struggling, 
we're not sinking, we're just fine. 
I'm not perfect my dearest, but damn have I tried, 
and I'll try harder but I know I'll have the same results every time. 
Do you want me all the ways that I am? 
With all the struggles and the tears and the clinging to your hand. 
I fear your getting further and Im left on the shore to stand, 
watching you in the distance with a bullet in my hand. 
Tell me all this worry, its just clutter in my mind, 
tell me not to worry that we're doing just fine. 
Cause Im scared to run you off and I feel Im falling deep. 
And Im so frightened of these thoughts that its getting hard to sleep.
All I know is that the heart wants what it desires, 
because of you the match inside has turned into a fire. 
And I feel the broken glass thats sticking from my skin, 
Wondering if you'll remove the pain or push it back in. 
My hearts frantic wondering if you feel the same, 
pleading and begging for more than just a saying, 
but to feel and to see that im not alone, 
with being in this love thats overwhelming. 
Once I told you that we didnt have a spark, 
but you were lighting up and I was sitting in the dark. 
And this fire, this blaze its wrapped in desire. 
Im terrified to lose you, I think I might die or, 
maybe disappear from all the pieces falling out, 
im going crazy but when i open my mouth, nothing comes out, 
and I cant explain to you why I just need to hold you close, 
why every time you leave Im scared to let you go, 
why these tears are building up behind my eyes, 
all I know is that the heart wants what it desires 
and it desires to be your wife. 
So tell me in my panic, that your words are true, 
tell my my dearest what I mean to you, 
tell me that this paranoia is all within my mind 
we're not struggling, we're not sinking tell me we're just fine

Copyright © Jay Loveless | Year Posted 2013


Details | Crazy Poem | |

You and I and I and You

You, who are so perfect in my eyes, so beautiful- adorable, and I, so flawed, ugly, damaged and crawling with defects; why do you enjoy my company? 

You, who are so sleek and slender, humming with a quiet intellect and a serenity about you, and I, so grossly overweight and pretentiously boastful and nervous; how can you abide my company?

You, who are a paragon of patience, so understanding and self-assured, and I, so insanely impulsive, so myopic and brimming with self-doubt; how do you stand my company?

You, who are so sweet, so considerably kind, so thoughtful and generous, and I, so bitter, so selfish, so self-absorbed; why do you choose my company?

You, who are so self-composed, full of self-control, so sound and stable, and I, so very neurotic, so completely compulsive and verily volatile; how can you tolerate my company?

You, who are so diligent, so driven and ambitious, so achieving, and I, so lackadaisically lazy, so uninspired, so complacent; why do you settle for my company?

You, who are ethical, so moral, so very virtuous, and I, so corrupt, so unprincipled, so wholly wicked; how can you endure my company?

You, who are so normal, so well-adjusted, so conventional, and I, so maniacal, so unbalanced and irrational; why do you condone my company?

You, who are bubbling with charm, who loves unconditionally and is absolutely accepting, and I, boiling with rage, fueled by misanthropy and incredibly intolerant; how can you welcome my company?

That you love and accept me for who and what I am, is a treasure beyond measure. I cherish your company, but why you cherish mine is something I cannot fathom. All I know is that I love you, my dear, beloved friend.

**This was written for two very dear friends: Karen and Tommy :)
***I also love palindromes ;)

*****FREE VERSE OLD AND NEW ENTRY

Copyright © Just That Archaic Poet | Year Posted 2013


Details | Crazy Poem | |

Obsessive Love

Press not to flaming lips your tepid kiss

Touch not this burning form with hands of ice

A lukewarm love can never bring to bliss

Nor will indifferent love for me suffice

 

Seek not with obligation to appease

Perfunctory in making love to me

Disdain is what I feel for “gifts” as these

Tis better far, my dear, to let me be

 

For if you not assess my heart aright

And think me one to faint with weak caress

You’ve not been seared by passion’s burning might

Nor tasted honeyed dreams that I undress

 

Hope not to bed me with halfhearted plea

With love obsessive, take a hold of me



Eileen Manassian Ghali

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014


Details | Crazy Poem | |

The Undyings' Curse

Deep in the earth, a crypt of rock
slumber guarded by casket locked
Lips grope silence ‘ever more
 rasping thought, remembers whispered lore
Outstretched palms the roots do clench
tranquility stilled by festered stench
And eyes, sleep caked, are propped ajar
ignites no life, but collapsed star

Burned blades sigh, Winds’ dying gasp
bones brittle snap within her clasp
A lonesome howl the moon does draw
vigil broken, it twists its maw 
Upon an arena of endless stone
the granite gates they’ve passed alone
And entered a world of burning eyes
eluded the judge of smoldering cries

A faultless gait, no stumbled draw
a reaping brought  by scythe and claw
Opal edge which shrouds a cause
aberrant blade shapes nature’s laws
Dictate a script, the stars can share
an open secret, a language bare
Steps continue, feet are drawn
across gray grass, undying pawn

Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015


Details | Crazy Poem | |

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree

You can see him now, dirty as a horse
that slipped in the mud, planting petunias
with that infamous shamrock thumb

(Irish from his Pop      Appendage from his Mum)

stopping every now - and again -
to breathe deep that fragrance
rich with pheromone nostalgia
just like Grammy Georgina used too do

the apple doesn't fall far from the tree

I can still see her now, in her glory days,
with lovely lemon locks soaking up the summer sun,
rooted in that old-fashioned train of mind:
You don't stop your work until it's done!

(but a walking contradiction, just like her grandson,
... rose to her nose like ruby rebellion)

the tree doesn't grow solely from the ground

Water's an important player too,
especially from grandma's showering can

(laughing tears the shade of crystalline blue)

Course you can't forget those lifetime lessons either,
from dear ole Georgie, speaking with a sunny kind of seriousness,
about the importance of patience,
the fruitfulness of labor,
plucking up the surviving winters' courageous cucumbers,
blushing beets

the ground isn't just a place for our feet

Cause with her and I, we incinerate the stereotype:
young blood reflecting on infinity,
old knees dancing like she's got chipper chipmunks
for toes     giggles in the background like a photobomb
to the expected chapel silence

(it's not all peaches and cream though,
sometimes we get violent)

Orange slush, flying miles behind us,
at times getting grazed in the face
by nature's food fight

our feet between the squish squish of the crab apple

We were two peas, if you please, in a curious pod,
like a whimsical joke from a laughing God:
Me, the champion of her scallions,
the guardian of her garden,
leaving all sensibility befuddled
with an, "I beg your pardon?"

I wonder if she knew then the gravity of the situation,
watching mama scream bloody murder,
as I came into this world ...

... was she scratching her head, lips curled, in questioning amazement,
just like Newton must have been, when developing his theory?
What d'you suppose they both were thinking?

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree ...



Written March 27, 2016
For the Cliche Contest Hosted by Silent One

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016


Details | Crazy Poem | |

EXERPTS FROM HITLER'S DIARY 1941

EXERPTS   FROM   HITLER’S   DIARY   1941

"I never travel without my diary, one should always have something sensational to read . .
 . " Oscar Wilde, 1891 

Tues    May  9:   
Just when I was busy with plans for Russia, Rudolf Hess dropped by with  crazy notion of
flying to UK for peace.   Said he bought  some new boots yesterday   for the trip  - 
dead   shiny .  I’d like a  pair like that.    I told him  -  forget the trip   and tell
me where you got the boots. 

Wed     June 22:     
Invaded Russia.   Eggs for lunch  -  hard boiled again -  I hate that. Must speak to Eva
about it.

Thurs    June 23:      
11:00  am - heard Chamberlain on radio again – that dreary voice!  that paper-waving 
droopy-moustached  old gopher!   My small black moustache  is much neater.     
12:30 pm -   inspected new bunker in East Prussia  with smoother concrete walls .   Eva
wants  to wallpaper  them    (nice little red flowers) and why  not?    
8:00pm -  after dinner,  practised  arm-gestures for  big Nuremburg speech  on Saturday. 
 Rehearsed a few ad libs. . . .  Eva liked them.

Fri    June24:      
Rained all day.   Slow day  (almost invaded Egypt) - stayed in and read.      Eva dyed her
hair  creamy-yellow.    ( I’m gonna start calling her Blondy.)           That new german
shepherd Bormann   gave me  -  I took her out for walk. . . . she's called Blondi  too  
 (Joke there  - the guys will like it) .   After dinner we all  listened to Franz Lehar’s
“Merry Widow” again.  I love it.   Eva fell asleep;    so did the dog.

Sat   June 25:   
Nuremburg speech went ok. Got all the ad libs in except one.    Rommel was on the phone
talking about Africa and Libya, and some place called Tobruk. Must make a note – where is
Tobruk? P.S. Must find out where Libya is.

Sat    Dec    6:  
Just read the latest in the newspapers....almost four million Russian prisoners  now.
 
Sun   Dec  7:  
Those crazy Japanese have  gone and done it. . . . oh  boy, they’re gonna be in trouble! 
               
Thurs   Dec 11:   
Oh, what the hell. . .  in for a dime in for a dollar :  this Russian war is too  easy,  I
need a bit of a challenge. Think I’ll whiz down  to the  Reichstag tonight  and tell ‘em
we’re declaring  war on the USA.    Might  get a pair of those shiny boots there too.  

……………………………………
Written by Sydney Peck  
for Constance La France ( A Rambling Poet )  -  Contest Name:  The Diary

Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2011


Details | Crazy Poem | |

What's In The Urn

           What’s In The Urn

Strangers offered me to join them in a drink
I met them on a mountain edge while skiing
They seemed like friendly normal people then
So what could happen in a simple cabin?

Finding that which is not there or vanquished
What is there that cannot be perceived?
Placed upon the mantel piece are ashes in the cabin
Brass vase, a receptacle for lost souls sits in repose

A death vase to glare at over cognac
By the sober flames cast by
A fire place glow observed in action
Liquid spirits pour out their poison

In the cozy living room inside the cabin
Drinks alone cannot remove this feeling of distraction
The urn is piercing through my soul
People belong in cemeteries you know

With all due respect for the dead
Scatter them at sea when they‘re deceased
Not paraded around in gloom to cause unease
Or as a center piece for living rooms 

I’m not relieved to find it is a lizard on the shelf
To be exact, an exotic iguana family friend entombed 
And to assume that fact makes this matter optimal 
I beg to differ on that point and voice my opinion later

There must be a plot of ground outside 
Or toilet somewhere to flush it down
But better left unsaid, as they are bereaved about the death
And I am their invited guest

Iguana tried consuming the family’s cat
Another favorite  pet I guess
It is surmised, that’s how it met its end
Wound up expired inside the urn
                                                                              
The receptacle was there and going nowhere on its own
I swear it follows me from room to room
By embers glow and ash, shadowing my every move
A brass smile casting off the urn, leaving me concerned 

I could not take my leave
The container followed me
So I waited, fixated on the thing
Is it coming back to life to eat more bugs or me?

Finding that which is not there
Is easier in the dark                                                                                     
Rising to the occasion of the day that breaks
I must escape the premises to continue skiing 

Into the frozen world outside I fly
With no discernible signs or paths to lead or learn
I get away, no time to say good-byes or find my way
Never again will I say; what’s in the urn

Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014


Details | Crazy Poem | |

Light On the Devil's Chord -Day 1

And the music began,
And with power so strong, I nearly fell back from the force
Snarling, smiling, demons held me upright,
As the Precarious Prince began,

“Dare you in silence come to me, Daughter of Eve,
To challenge my wisdom with your lust to sing,
A child of God—you provoke His flea,
A monster in the dark—a sight to see!

In meditative silence, I was ever blooming,
The passion for power in my mind consuming,
In silence, my brilliance berated all other
My beauty, shocking, my wings of color

Etched in golden array, 
Silence was my everything,
A bud so tight, so light, so moist,
In heaven bright—its beam rejoiced!

And now, as knowledge, as power do burst,
I sit in silence, though in the worst
A quiet so perturbed your stomach curbs,
I long in luster for demons to disturb

Silence, once a subordinate to my wit,
Had found its way into this grimy pit,
Where now your God has given me,
A work of sloppy treachery…

Had I been He, and He been me,
I would throw His heart into the sea,
And watch the eels suck each artery
And listen to his lullabies for a century,
To feel his spirit sweat in the flames of my power,
I would shred his head on the highest tower,
Give him something to really Bab-bel,
Make him wish Eve had crushed that apple” 

He smiled at me with teeth protruding, 
Head craning,
Keenly waiting for my reply
My throat was insanely dry, and my heart racing
I had expected more, yet expected less…
And now all my wits were a wretched mess

Yet still Death severed those deep bass chords..
I began as a child would, with a doubtful sigh,
I wondered yet again what kind of trouble I was coming by
And inspired by The Reaper’s little push, I began

“In my days in your presence, dear one
Silence shall not roam too close,
I do not sing to disdain you,
Rather to know you, 
I do not grow quiet,
To decompose you…”

I stopped for a moment, 
To see him staring rather attentively,
As if he were expecting a miracle
His almost angelic expression changed as quick as it came…

“Go on…” He demanded. “Sing me what your God would have sang…”

“You speak of silence, in the fogs of doom,
In your pit you dwell, and with a child you make room,
I have ached long in the vision of your cries,
Watching the happy children, and the relieving sighs,
I imagined you just as I see you today,
A beautiful sufferer, with wit, bite, and sway
Crushing courage in your wake,
I implore you—you quake
Moments like these I will never forget,
To win, to lose, to KNOW I wait yet!
What is it with man and his thirst for the truth,
Leading him to fall, to intercede his youth,
And as I do now, wrong or right,
By God and his angels has found delight!
Allowed me with confidence to face you Prince,
A sauntering being of ire and impertinence
I see where your attention bleeds,
I see your mind and I see your needs
Such darkness must now allow some light,
By accepting my challenge—a bravery so bright
Do I mean to admire you, accept you, despise you
Am I hear to judge you, taunt you, transpire you
You and you alone I come for, oh Prince
To show you I care, to break the silence
To share with you the precious gifts of song,
To love, to sing, and in turn…belong…”

The demons chimed with laughter dark
As the Prince sat close beside me
He stood very slow, towering over me,
And took me by the arm

“Charming voice, darling,
You sing quite well,
Shall we sing for as long as you say?
Will you not be missed?”

He pointed above me, and stared at me deeply
There was warning written all over him
A threatening, distant eye,
The other full of desire

“I am missed by you, though I stand before you,
This I say, Prince
I shall stay with you 40 days and 40 nights, 
And then I shall leave you, in the breaking dawn of day…”

His grip tightened upon me,
“I have you, child, woman…light…
For 40 Days and 40 nights… 
Before then, let us make history of song
Yes, my dear... let us both belong…”

The demons gasped,
And Death stood still…steadily strumming a pulse of daring life


----Thank you once again, Justin Bordner, for the title to this work. 
This may be confusing if you have not yet read the other parts to the poem.  If you are interested, they are called Light On the Devil’s Chord – Part 1, Part 2 Part 3 as well as The ChallengeThanks for reading friends! ~Laura

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015


Details | Crazy Poem | |

Black Afternoon


her sunlight shaded with clouds 
burning love shuttered in pain. 
rain falls and pours down her feet 
black widow spits in demon's face. 

broken mirror hangs in the wall
she sees face dirty and old.
pulling down tears one by one
rinse the wound caused by his hands.

she caves underground to feel the dark
to compose and heal her broken heart.
wait for the morning to witness the sunlight
free her mind to feel the long lost love.

powerful, she runs through the door 
no regrets, left her home alone. 
blue and purple paintings on skin 
are gone when she dances in the rain.

Copyright © Aiyah de Torres | Year Posted 2015


Details | Crazy Poem | |

Insanity Music

Last year, her imagination went double
So she ignored her previous schedule.
She put all her dreams inside of clear jars,
Decorated with different, assorted stars.

She believed if she always kept things rounded,
She would also succeed in keeping life grounded.
So she would circle every found square
Believing it demonstrated her constant care.

Plastic, colored eggs hung from her ceiling
To keep her floor from creaking and reeling.
Pale pink and bold gold stripes on her wall
Recorded every received telephone call.

She worshiped and loved both the sun and moon,
But only from inside her living room.
She feared really being observed outside,
A place where stray cats were known to hide.

She always loved dance, but during this year
She’s been dancing to music only she can hear.
All these things bring her secure nuances near,
But make her sanity less and less clear. 


September 30, 2015
Contest:  So I Thought Of This Line
Sponsor:  Francine Roberts
1st Place

Copyright © CayCay Jennings | Year Posted 2015


Details | Crazy Poem | |

Dont Mess With Crazy Women

Darlin I just cant keep a eye on you.
Everytime I stop to relax.
I find were threw.

You say leave but dont go far.
Untill you find yourself my dear.
I'll be down at the bar.

So many moods for such a little person indeed.
Forget me when your pissed.
And call me whenever your in need.

Your love is like a brick.
It really hurts when  thrown.
You left me a million messages.
Dear crazy women please leave 
me alone.

You dont know how to act normaly let 
alone when you drink.
My darlin you dont need anything  except for a 
shrink.

And maybe a nice straight jacket with a muzzle 
to.
After you stabbed me lastnight.
You really didnt  have to call me in the hospital 
and tell me were through.

They say love is sweet but this 
seems more like a lemon.
The moral of this story fellas
is dont mess with crazy women.

Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009


Details | Crazy Poem | |

The Old Prospector, The Crazy Old Fool

The Old Prospector, The Crazy Old Fool

Folks said that nasty fool is a damn old bat
times the bastard knows not where he is at
Rumor is he lives in shame for murdering a man
eats lizards and snakes, drinks from rusty can

He eats snails, claiming it slows his pain
wore a sombrero, his umbrella for the rain
Chewed on his grubby food lightning fast
swore hell was his garden if it only last

Claimed he slept on a pleasant cactus bed
had genius ideas always running in his head
Knew the earth was only alien hunting ground
had hid every strange thing he ever found

On cold nights slept naked as he could be
swore it put better leaves on his tree
Always used a large rock for his pillow
ate boiled bark from his weeping willow

When asked how he knew this earth was flat
said, if were round I not be where I am at
Kept a rattle snake for his waking alarm
declared it to be a friend doing him no harm

Yet when he passed on they soon did find
not all was crazy as all hell in his mind
For hidden under his massive cactus bed
buried deep were 700 bars not of lead

Gold this old timer had been finding there
his crazy act was to keep all thieves unaware
Gold mine hidden underneath his shabby shack
tunnel underground to rocky hill outback

Lawyers found that he had a grandson at Yale
claimed to be an orphan was his tale tale
He had paid that boy's way into a great life
making sure the kid experienced no strife

His hoard tallied out to be five million bucks
mine still producing hauled out by trucks
Town-folks all were shocked and so damn amazed
this old man they had thought to be so crazed

In his will he left a note for his tombstone,
Hell with you fools, my old tired ass is gone!
I had fun seeing what dumbasses you all were
my trick playing you ALL caused a big stir

Grandson put the biggest tombstone on his grave
wrote a best selling book on how gramps gave
Exposed the bias of the arrogant fools in town
folks laughed so hard they couldn't put it down!

Robert J. Lindley


Note: Poem is loosely written on the life of an old man about my former home-town, an old man  they all called "Crazy Jim". 
One day, I talked to crazy Jim, he stopped acting crazy walked about town with me a teenager explaining all about the places and people for the last 40 years there. Not a single crazy word did the man utter. 
As we arrived back where our walk started he shook my hand and said, son I knew your dad well, he was an honest man, a good man. 
Then he walked off jabbering, back into his act...
Later when I told people about it all -none of them believed me... 
I learned that people will absolutely refuse to accept when they've been played for fools. Will prefer to keep believing the lie..

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015


Details | Crazy Poem | |

The Despair of In-Between

How I am torn from even thinking we could be more What reason do I have to change what we already are? I make an effort to stop myself from overwhelming you, And the next moment, you are all over me, As I, confused, welcome your playful caresses… And when I offer my own touch, You quickly, shyly decline, With a silence in between telling me you want otherwise I can see it in your eyes… In this trembling tension, I long to melt with you, Offering you a deeper place within me, You inch closer to me with doubt and fear, And I wonder when the barriers will burst My thoughts drifting into the glistening doubt of turning tides In our jokes and laughter, The love that is evident within us is coated away, Tucked within each chuckle, pushing me away… The part of me I long for you to see… For once, I want to hold you, yes… possessively Knowing it is not a trivial joke that brought us together Though here we have not even established mutual affection As it is evident in your complexion… I refuse to believe this is all in my head… It is not by chance that we inch closer to one another In that shy, shameful hesitance My love has no shame It only waits…. You must let go of your uncertainties But please… do not let me go again… Do not reject what is rightfully yours… For it kills me….love, it kills me…. My heart sighs every moment I see the love in your eyes I curse the laughter that we once have cherished For now it is merely a tool to mask the shame of our love I know my words would easily fall into your heart to reassure you, If only you would let open that door, I would show you…. I would hold you…kiss you, and know you…

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015


Details | Crazy Poem | |

The Gatekeepers of my Soul

In the deep blue realms of sadness
Floats the madness of my soul
No happy childhood dreams to cling to
No cherished memories left to hold

A crippled smile hides the weary miles
And scars carved deep within my heart
Ive searched this world for better horizons
But it seems those aspirations fall apart

Ive questioned God of my creation
And the reasons why im hear
But every time i think i see the light
The vision slowly disappears.

So ive made friends within these four walls 
With the gate keepers of my soul
And i cozy up to my madness
Alone in the dark and cold.

Copyright © Carl Fraser | Year Posted 2016


Details | Crazy Poem | |

Ugly Words

Words with such ugly meanings
do not belong in the everyday conversation.
Contrary to popular belief
you can live another day
without disgusting proclamations.
In what way is saying, "That girl's hot as sh*t"
a compliment?
These words are not to be used frivolously
like so many condiments.
A dashing here,
and a dashing there.
What am I, Emeril Lagasse, saying BAM!
for flair?
They are not rays of sunshine
popping out of the clear blue sky.
Nor are they functioning wings
that make you soar high.
I know in truth most don't care;
F-this and f-that,
I mean really, what are you
trying to get at?
If it's just a personality trait
then I guess I'm stuck at a locked gate.
I'm not trying to pick a lock,
this is truly just how I talk.
... for sure not attempting to spread hate,
I just find it all quite unappealing.
Is it too much to ask
to measure up your words
with how you're actually feeling?

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2014