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Best Psychological Poems

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Details | Psychological Poem | |

DARK ANGELS OF HIGHGATE


  
Enough Angelina, drop the bouquet of harebells.  
The flowers wilt as your graying hands stiffen. See, how grave
is our newborn son. We gift him a black crêpe layette.
Say Darling Edward, say, Golubushka, make me come alive.
Leave this chapel, return to his cradle, quicken your deadwood.  
Come, rock his sweet little boat, croon, sladkiy bairdark.
 
Your shade sighs as the mourners trudge into the dark
of All Hallow's Eve. A breeze stirs the hairs on my nape. Bells 
toll, the ringer incants “Unto the Church, I do You call, Death              
to the grave will summon all.” Freshly turned gravel
rolls from the burial mound, the earth’s answer to life’s 
reticence. Our son, whom I cradle, mutely lays.       
 
See, the ground moves.  There, there, my boy. Love's only mislaid.
Father, Mother, take the babe, go, shield him from Highgate’s darkness.
I stay. By will alone, I'll not let maggots deface beauty that lives.    
My Angel, please, tug the cord housed in your coffin so the bell
will ring, rouse London’s rigor. You will waltz on this grave,
speak of Siberian winters, then scoff, roll eyes at the vigor of death. 
 
Insubstantial lips brush the babe’s forehead, even death
cannot stay her reply. Ed’ard, Mother will take him home to lie. 
A chill north wind rises as if to show your sorrow from the grave,
clawing the headstone with twigs and pebbles; clouds darken
the moon. Your shade screams; a bough whips Mother's cheek, the bell  
on its gold cord is silent. Wind nigh swallows my howl, Angelina, live!
 
We are alone, Angel, save for those cemetery ravens which liven
roan weeds. Three nights I've troubled Highgate, plucking deadheads   
from your boney wreath. Obstinate wife, revive the grieving bell.
I hear them calling Ed’ard, Come. I am torn from your stone: waylaid,
outnumbered, locked in our bedchamber. At the next darkening,  
the babe's rattle rings, calling your name. I escape to your grave.  
 
Nightclothes drenched and shoeless, I topple onto the grave.
Yea though I walk … ring, damn you, bell, ring! Curse this life!
The sky cracks open, sheet lightning pierces the craven darkness
as if in answer a mother oak’s limb shatters. The deadweight
crushes me against the granite angel where you lay.
At sunrise, church bells rang Angelus prayer from the chapel’s belfry.
 
Angelina, Angelina, our grown son visits our grave to honor the dead.
He is our true afterlife; all my fears have been allayed.
All is too calm and well 'til his eyes darken as he batters your bell.


Collaboration by Cyndi MacMillan and Debbie Guzzi

Stanzas 1, 3 ,5 and 7 by Cyndi MacMillan
Stanzas 2, 4, and 6 by Debbie Guzzi



Details | Psychological Poem | |

PERCEPTION

   PERCEPTION

Before the abyss, I had it all
Letting go of all I see
My friend, I hope our time won't end
It took a short time for you to notice 
Without knowing who I am 
We talked, we became friends

Connecting the dots, missing every line
Connect them and figure me out
Randomly it comes your way
Underneath a never known chemistry
Ask me to stay and I may
Grinding your teeth into my way
Cut out my eyes, and store them up
A tongueless mouth, nothing to say

Maybe by tomorrow you will forget
Losing myself in my own conversation
Hiding behind my one big regret
Don't know, Don't care
You had me open up
A book I closed, knowledge lost

No need to see 
A mystery called deception
What I am cannot be seen with the naked eye
Along came you using your *ucked* up perception
The ability you miss use
making sense of this connection
A process you carry with your own  patterns
You asked, you listened,  without making assumptions
A taste to take off my shoulders, 
To release an error locked in my Asylum
I myself am enjoying the insights about him
He's got me convince, using his perception
               
  :)
SKAT

Details | Psychological Poem | |

A Love Story

The girl is an ultra-modern scholar, 
Belongs with an upper-middle class family. 
Looking very nice, smart, gets angry suddenly. 
She reads M.A in English at Presidency University. 
She is assimilating to the ideas of Shakespeare, 
Shelley, Keats, Neruda, Byron...
Fluently speaks English, loves cricket. 
Shoulders are shaken by expression.
She cries alone, laughs with everyone....

The girl is very good.

The boy is a post-modern educated son of a lower-middle class family.
He studies M.A in Bengali at Calcutta University.
He is assimilating to the routes of Vaishnab literature,
Ideas of Bharatchandra, Rabindranath Tagore, Nazrul, Jibanananda...
Writes poems, sings song, loves football.
He walks on the high-street and observes people.
He laughs alone, listens to everyone...

The boy is very good.


They are attracted by the opposite personality!
The  girl wants that her lover will be a modern man.
The boy thinks that his lover will become as the mind of his. 
 
They are changing silently
Losing individuality.

Time flows.
Love goes to another address... 

SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA

Details | Psychological Poem | |

THE PLIGHT

THE  PLIGHT
I never cease to ponder at the turmoil in my life 
Though I feel my soul is peaceful it is manifest in strife 
While the strife is all internal 'neath a self content facade 
Turmoil rises in the absence of at-one-ment with my God 
Is it merely my perception? Am I resisting taking heed? 
Should this life be one of resting, or is it strife I need? 
 
It should be a simple matter to find the purpose of this life 
Is it growth I need from striving or is it rest I need from strife? 
Is it focused introspection, is it altruistic love? 
Is it spiritual reflection, or is it all of the above? 
For sure it’s more than economic, yet while that’s necessary too 
Is it our souls’ evolution that makes it all worthwhile to do. 
 
I can see no point in living just to pass another day 
I must have something more worth giving, than just to pay my way. 
It would be so much the simpler if a man could know for sure 
What his purpose is for living, his evolvement to procure. 
Will my purpose well within me? Could a vision not appear? 
And suggest a clear direction to pursue while I am here. 
 
I’m so tired of treading water, putting time in ‘till I die 
There must be something more constructive waiting for me by and by 
I have fancied other options but none have succored to my taste 
Yet to continue what I’m doing simply put, seems like a waste 
So it seems the only option is to carry on and wait 
And resolve that when I’m called on I will not hesitate 
 
I have learned of soul eternal, on an endless ageless quest 
Taking various forms and bodies, each to serve its purpose best 
With each lifetime experience and with every lesson learned 
It’s one step closer to perfection that the growing soul has earned 
For it’s purpose is advancement, and to not be left behind 
In it’s struggle for ascension to God, the universal mind 
 
I have friends who understand me, superficially at least 
I have others who are certain I have succumbed to the beast. 
I have family who despise me as a traitor to the faith 
Very quick to, criticize me and condemn me as "off base" 
I have learned I must not judge them, t’would be a travesty indeed 
For they are only doing what ‘ere it is that their souls need. 

In the meantime, I’m impatient, that my calling has not come 
It’s quite clear that I’m not ready, sufficient learning’s not been done. 
The problem’s not with others, nor need they change for me 
The work must all be done within me for my soul to be set free 


Details | Psychological Poem | |

Asperger's Child

Some say you're not quite whole,
But I know better, Angel Child.
You live in a place all your own,
Free, unhinged, sometimes wild.

In precious moments you let me in
And I am stunned by what I see.
Purple trees and butterfly bees
And things I thought couldn't be.

You tell me of other wonders
In a voice so sweet I nearly weep—
Of Daisy Lou, a lizard that's blue,
And of mice that sing you to sleep.

Then abruptly your voice changes
And your look seems far away.
I have become a stranger to you;
You have said all you want to say.

I understand the pattern too well;
You have gone where I can't go.
You dwell there often, Angel Child,
It's where you're wholly whole.

Details | Psychological Poem | |

You'll Know Of Love

If you can make it through the day,
Never worried what others say,
If you can take the time to play
Yet get your work done come what may,
If you win having never fought,
And mend the stresses time has tore,
Or be content with what you’ve got,
And very rarely ask for more;

If you can make a house a home
And properly raise children too,
If you can stay and never roam
And do it cause it’s what you do,
If you can speak bad of no one
Cause gossip's not worth repeating,
Or stick to a task till it’s done
And never think of retreating;

If you can keep your life savings
And not risk it on a gamble,
And avoid expensive cravings,
And allow your friends to ramble,
If you can force yourself to cope
And do what it takes to survive,
And live on little more than hope
And the will which keeps you alive;

If you can hold your head up high
Or stoop to help those without much,
If you seek truth and not a lie
If you can heal with a touch
If you can be mother and wife
And still find time for God above,
Yours is the Earth and a good life,
And what is more; you'll know of love!

Details | Psychological Poem | |

In the bed they make

And when will the tides turn against confident indifference?!

When will humanity cease
To throw cats against curiosity’s silver coated dagger

Another played out song
Another dramatic lyric
Shifting embellished overtones
With deteriorating tact

They spit posthumous awakenings
As divinity laced smiles, wither under a convoluted moon
Shedding retina waterfalls
Misunderstood

Pretentious anger becomes Aphrodite mediocrity
Wisdom, they never “put out”

Crippled tears
Become self-important struts within olive tinted reckonings

Lambasted butterflies
Stirring hornets’ nest
Uninvited

They dream for better days
While double-knotting gang colored bandanas
On eagle’s achromatic foreheads

Another Woody Woodpecker band-aid pulled from condescending hypocrisies

…

And when will the tides turn against pilot light’s mal-intent?

When will the flinty sheep 
Stop wondering how these charring, orange fires began

Forgetting the 115 octane gasoline can
They hold quietly in their hands

©Drake J. Eszes

Details | Psychological Poem | |

The Pain Game

Why do people, want to cause
Other people pain
Where is the Love 
That will break the chain

Someone says something
Then it's tit-for-tat
I've played this before
We all know the score
Now who's up at bat

I think it's time, for us to play
The self healing game
Before there's no one, left
Around to blame

One that's more thoughtful
And much less insane
Let's reach for the Sun
And help everyone
Come out of the rain

All we have, is this fleeting chance
To get this right
No time for jealousies 
No time to fight

Don't say, that you're sorry
Don't seek to forgive
Just start here today
And throw it away
And learn how to live
 





Details | Psychological Poem | |

AN EXISTENTIALIST ASKS---WHAT IS LIFE

What is life?

Euphonies, cacophonies and chromosomal anomalies
intertangled destinies and illusive methodologies 

Occurring in obscure dimensionless time
Millenniums fertilized to create the sublime

Perceived by ideations so pure it would seem
To exist beyond mind and to all in between. 

Lingering as lore to an all distant past
There is no redo, there is no redraft.

The questions, the answers so rightly proclaimed
are composed and transported by thoughts still unnamed.

In limited struggle, the moments unspent 
Become the result of a living lament.

In what and wherefore and why and with whom
we unwrap our existence in this paradoxical womb

Can we find meaning, a clear sign that we see
inclusive to all, this existential decree.

From naught made of all and conceived in a star,
we landed on earth, neither near nor afar

For reasons unknown and telegnosis unclear,
These salient projections are all jockeyed by fear

We stand in the way of unknowing surmise
And find the world is still much a surprise.

A quest overwhelming in distressed sanity
For answers not known play havoc to vanity.

To end these remarks with a questionable phrase
all becomes known in 'one of these days.'


SYNOPSIS
From the moment of birth to when we die, life presents us with dilemmas and questions that amuse, titillate and confuse us.  As we get older, we realize that what we thought we knew was all pure conjecture.  This poem is meant to reflect  the myriad of disjointed thoughts that  have run through my mind throughout the years.  The "why me?" and "what is my purpose in life?" questions usually are met with ambiguity and incoherence.
Many of us are beleaguered with these conceits and although some find solace in religion, for people like me it becomes an existential never ending struggle.  

CAK 8-18-2013

Details | Psychological Poem | |

SWIMMING UPSTREAM

SWIMMING UPSTREAM

It seems I always 
swim upstream 
against the current.
re-creating struggles 
of conflicting contradictions
and unsweetened scripts
at odds with others
in deeds and words
a emotional dissonance 
played out over a lifetime. 
banged and buffered hard
against the onflow;
prevailing opposites rush
to assail my efforts
intent on wearing me down
scraping, scarring, challenging
calling me out with
harsh ridicule and doubt
  
why must I cause stirred sediments 
to muddy, blind and bewilder me
blurring reason so that
what is seen as truth 
often becomes mixed
with drama and ambivalence? 
 
how righteous is the direction
of this timeless stream?
shall I swim with it or against it?
go one way or the other;
does it really matter?

I cannot give up
I cannot relent...
this is who I am
a person searching
for kindred spirits
to swim backward 
with me
against the current.
to find some direction,
some marker that guides
this hurrier to a another plane
of purposeful existence.

SYNOPSIS 

I think most people at some time are contrarian.
Some from the start; others in their teens.
Some all through their life.
I can't remember being otherwise.
In retrospect, am I really that different
or do I use it an excuse
to be noticed?  Perhaps both. 


CAK 10-13-12013

Details | Psychological Poem | |

A Tortured Soul

She's bound by chains too hard for her to break
Alive and yet she tastes a living death
Morality and ethics round her neck
And so she plans to rob her soul of breath

The flames of hell are licking at her feet
In torture is her soul in need of love
A proffered gift of passion undenied
Would bring upon her wrath from God above

To convent in the hills she must escape
Confession make and plead for mercy there
Or else her heart and soul to crucify
And end the call of pleasure, beauteous fair

Betwixt morality and passion lies
The sweet seduction in a lover’s eyes

Jade Celeste

Details | Psychological Poem | |

The man who speaks the truth

The man who tells the truth

There’s something about those fearful folk
There’s many of them too
They hate hassles of any kind
When another says what’s true
They cringe, and hide behind the door
Cause maybe he is right
And if there knowledge gets tested
It gives them no delight

If someone should question them
On beliefs and all that stuff
Even though the words are wise
The truth becomes too tough
They have to have their Teddy bears
To protect them from the night
And when somebody differs from them
It gives them quite a fright

Though the truth might lose him friends
He knows one thing for sure
He’s spoken from intelligence
He’s looked into the core
And because he never follows
{Self-reliance is his way}
He always will respect himself
In all he’ll do and say.

11 October 2014.

Details | Psychological Poem | |

SEE-SAWS


What playground does not hold the magic lure
Of see-saws firmly braced upon their stands?
What child resists excitement, felt for sure
In ups and downs: the hard thump when he lands
And surging thrill of bouncing up again—
To know that when he's hit that lowest low,
It's followed by a swing to new heights when
He'll know once more the joy of that plateau?

In contrast of the see-saw truth is found,
For truly, were it stable, it would bore
The simplest mind; for only from the ground
Does grandeur of the heavens make its score.
     And only in imbalances we feel
     The balance that keeps life on even keel.

© Sandra M. Haight 2014
    All Rights Reserved

Contest: Teeter-Totter: Balance the Load
Sponsor: Sheri Fresonke Harper - Judged 10/7/2014
~4th Place~

Details | Psychological Poem | |

The VORTEX

Closer and closer to the vortex
I spin wildly, madly 
So out of control
Body and soul
Clutching at anything and everything
Knowing I’m being suctioned

My breathing quickens
My pulse thickens
My body weakens

The vortex draws me nearer
to its core
Turbulent
Strong
OH... SO...STRONG
It pulls me down
It sucks me in

Going down
Down
Down
I’m being devoured
Swallowed up whole
In the vortex
Of your desire
Your swirling
liquid
fire
            ~  h ~
        T ~        ~ e
     vor               you
         ~           ~ 
           te        of 
               ~ ~
                 x

Eileen Manassian


Eileen 

Details | Psychological Poem | |

Shaken to the Core

Her sad eyes and tear stained face evoked such ambivalent feelings;
I could barely stand to look upon the half-naked child in front of me. 
She turned her face toward me with a pained look begging for help.
Maternal feelings welled up within for this pitiful tangled haired waif. 

Gaping in abject horror, I observed the orphan's frail arms wrapped 
tenaciously around a dead rat and held close to her dirt smeared body. 
I sensed this sewer 'pet rat' had been her only source of comfort in life. 
The one thing she turned to, when sad or hungry, would never again be.
 
While resisting the urge to gather her up in my arms and dry her tears, 
still I desired to sympathize... whispering, "Don't cry honey, it'll be OK". 
I lied, knowing it wouldn't.  Besides what could I do with so little to give. 
I turned and walked away not wanting to face my growing sense of lack.

I awoke with a start, shuddering, deeply disturbed and troubled to tears.
Sometimes the vivid images, like a horror movie returning to haunt me,
make me question, "Who is that wretched child so forlorn and dejected?
The memories shake my very soul, the hidden message still eluding me. 

Details | Psychological Poem | |

Masked Men

Masked Men

Look in the mirror
Look in the mirror
What do you see?
Masked men staring back at me
What do you do when you look in the mirror?
Only to despise what you see
The pain you caused the everlasting memories
Do you see what you've done?
Can you live with what you caused?

Go now down your distant path
Your unworthy happiness will never last
These are things the Masked Men Cause
Who’s to say your right or wrong?
Misguided emotions lead you down this path
Masked Men mistakes will surly last
Go now the time has come
No more chances the Masked Men are done
Turn away and feel the pain

The lonely walk to enter slumber
The Masked Men Smile with pleasures unknown
Another one down
A broken spirit lost
Close your eyes and take his hand
Let the Masked Men take you away

By: Tim Lundmark

Details | Psychological Poem | |

Nano-bot Incursion

            Nano-bot Incursion

Nanobots began to shape their world in silent numbers
Grew uncountable before the dawn of days
In silence there is no form.
Darkness has no shape on empty landscapes
Black rocks don’t count as objects to odd aliens  
Time does not stand still.  It stands for nothing in the trenches of creation
Down in the minuscule world of nano-ness abstraction
Going about their business relentlessly
Expanding as they go
Nothing holds back the glow of tenacious ingenuity.    
Human metallic rings worn on fingers
Seem to have peculiar effects on nanos actions
For some unknown reason strange things happen at mere contact
Apparently the shape of rings causes aberrant behavior
Perhaps tiny automatons don’t like restrictions
Confined movements to circular rotation
Perplexing them to the monotony of repetition 
Around and around the band
Become disoriented as an emergent species
Collide and die 
Apparently nano-bots need to expand 
Naturally this is all pure speculation   
If humans are to merge with them successfully
They must open up the molecules within each cell
Relax the pores above the skin
Allow the alien in
Allow the process to begin
It does not matter if this is a sin or crime
Science and technology must forge forward 
That which goes against conventions
Has never stopped the building of reality 
Constructing futures is what the nanos do
We are long overdue to break all laws of nature
Allow the nano-bots to do 
What they instinctively know how and what to do
Merge with the human brain
Take us to their leader to new horizons
To the next plateau into omnipotence
To stand in numbing silence next to them
Spinning round and round in circles
Humming nano nano under the breath
   
 



Details | Psychological Poem | |

In my sanctuary

It's in my sanctuary where I write
Deep inside the walls of my mind
It's the only place I can find that's still filled with light
Not clouded by dark thoughts, nah, I'm leaving those behind

It's in my sanctuary where I can think in peace
Where I can blow off steam and just release 
It's where my suffering ends and I start to feel good again
In my sanctuary is the one place I no longer feel the pain

It's in my sanctuary where I avoid the human race
And I can move at a more comfortable pace
It's where I can relax and just not care
It's a place where entering should be a dare

It's in my sanctuary where I like to spend my time 
'Cause in there nothing costs even a dime
It's all in my head
But hey, at least I'm not dead

Details | Psychological Poem | |

stand by me

When all the skies come falling down, 
i ask you 'stand by me'
when I'm in the clouds and won't look down
I pray just wait for me
When I'm far away with thoughts of woe
I ask you let me be
When I tell you just to up and go
I pray you will not leave
If the tides do change, one day they might
I ask will we be free
If the darkness lifts from day to night
I pray its you I'll see
If all the rain should rainbows make
I ask you let it be
but if all the skies come falling down
I pray you'll 'stand by me'

Details | Psychological Poem | |

My house is not always a happy home

My house is not always a happy home .

Journee’s we all take – from time to time -
take me into thoughts travelling on roads to the past,
where I walk with ghosts, that sometimes haunt,
along with spirits that fly – free – into the sublime.

Both sojourn with me to places where dreams,
nightmares find refuge, incubate, where they be
- the facts of  life – one carries with them to the end.
For sanity to survive, one must make both friend.

Unlike most else in life, they are with us forever,
even if we burry, no longer see them in the light of day.
Like most else that moves on, they will not fade away,
just hide in dark corners of our house until night key

comes to unlock the subconscious, set the ghosts free.
That is the nature of the psychological, mind game
that human nature - the gods – have ingrained in you and me
and that is what ties us together as one, in there, we are the same.
B. J. “A” 2
August 22nd 2004

Details | Psychological Poem | |

Addiction of meth

Emotions of addiction
pulling so seductively

like a long lost love

whispering my name 
over and over 
until its all I hear

yearning rumbles deep down
burning as it rises
like bile in my throat

So conniving in its game 
of love and hate

like peek a boo with a child
frightening when it is revealed

turn and run they say
where shall I go

the only recourse is to stay

fighting everyday

as it tries to tear 
to wear me down

He calls to me
i answer and somehow
i have won
a new day is here

exhausted and confused
howling growling in the distance
addiction pulls back

waiting patiently so patiently
to take me back to hell

Details | Psychological Poem | |

Opening The Fridge

I had an unusual reaction to opening my fridge today
Two cardboard boxes from a long ago memory stood in my way
And I found suddenly I no longer had the appitite to eat
And with the palapating of my heart came the quickening of my feet
And I - without thought - decided to hide from my past today

Bruised knuckles and silent tears
Even sunlit pictures are filled with hidden fears
And a symbol or a number or a song or a smell
Takes me by the eyes and drags me back into that hell
And no memory is left to be sweet
Every thought leaves me trembling at his feet

I hurry to leave the heart throbbing sight 
The trigger following me into the height
Of my paradoxal panic - that leaves me senseless
And the memories flow of the nights I lay defenseless 
Two cardboard boxes stood in my way
Active PTSD can transform a whole day.

Details | Psychological Poem | |

Dis-order

I sit here twitching, shaking, in a panic
I don’t want to do this again, I hate feeling frantic
Don’t let this happen, don’t let me slip away
Into the darkest depths of my mind, nothing to say

At first these experiences seem inviting
But here there’s no such thing as deciding
The light is so bright and luminous at first
Until its’ quickly dimmed and the pain it causes hurts

The darkness creeps in like a predator
With the dim light as it’s’ competitor
Who’s going to win this time, this fight?
Who’s going to give the hardest bite?

Stuck between pure happiness and sadness
There is no explanation to this uncomfortable madness
Waiting, waiting; for this too shall pass
While the emotions in my head encompass

My heart surrounding the insufficiencies of my head
The feelings so heavy as if my heart is fashioned out of lead
Like I’ve got shackles on my hands and around my feet
In this state of mind everything seems obsolete 

Details | Psychological Poem | |

The Best Part of Crazy

The best part of crazy is the coffee
Every psych ward and therapy office
Comes equipped with the best.
When things fall apart there are little fixes:
Black coffee.
Cigarettes.
Psych Ward.

Details | Psychological Poem | |

Reaping The Benefits

I can't see the benefits
I'm still taking needless risk
I breathe the same air that Jesus did
I still carry his pain 
I have mastered it
I lay it down at his feet 
Please forgive me your Majesty
Give me the strength to overcome
Help me in my time of need
When I died to myself wisdom was risen within me
And a vision was given to me
And sorrow flooded my soul
I never take the bed if it's made with nails
I know I must defeat my demons 
And I'm there making my bed in hell
And the Lord is with me
And my enemies can still feel the mental strength of my mind still
And that's the benefits