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When Madness Rides on Moonlight

Debbie Guzzi Avatar Debbie Guzzi - LIFETIME Premium Member Debbie Guzzi - Premium MemberPremium Member Send Soup Mail Go to Poets Blog Block poet from commenting on your poetry

Below is the poem entitled When Madness Rides on Moonlight which was written by poet Debbie Guzzi. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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When Madness Rides on Moonlight

Days pass into the weakest of loveless nights. The moon blinks.
The stars swirl beneath the colored brush of Van Gogh. He links.
Comets trail snowfields of light pass agonized cypresses, schizophrenic concussion.
On and on, the wind twirls the trees and does not complain,
nor, does the cosmos cringe awaiting reciprocation.
Lightening bugs mimic the starlight, atoms sneer.

Those who spout love and friendship abandon him sneering.
Their images dance beneath his half closed lids, when he blinks.
Though denied visual compass, his soul does not reciprocate.
Through pain, physical and mental, palpable pain, he still links,
with the life which has both absorbed and excluded him not complaining.
Night passes without his mistress, Sien. His mind writhes, eternal concussion.

His torn visage trembles with the brass sounds the storm's ranting concussions.
The butcher, the baker the candlestick maker, derides and sneers. 
How unmerciful is this cycle, this God to whom he does not complain?
And, if indeed, lack of mercy is just, may he not know “Why?” Time blinks.
Just the act of thinking causes pain. Only painting connects him to the link.
He must accept both the pain and the art as gifts, choosing not to reciprocate.

Voices always the voices, the paint, the moon, the voices, reciprocate.
He chases the mice. The cheese, pewter plate and all, falls with concussion.
He rubs the backs of gnarled hands across his lids, maintaining the link. 
“How? Why?" But, the mice eating his cheese grimace and sneer.
Inside the cottage sunflowers shimmer and wiggle in vases, as he blinks.
Stumbling, he falls in an attempt to sit, the insubstantial chair does not complain.

He had thought God clear, clear as sunlight, yet the damn paint Lord! complained. 
He was Not God, and try as he would, the light escaped. He MUST reciprocate.
After all who was he, but a mere man, ashes to dust, life blinks.
“Ah death…le grand mal…no minor concussion,”
He must escape this mortal coil, join the celestial spin without their sneers.
Sick, he was sick, yes, sick to death of not being understood, no link.

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  1. Date: 8/5/2010 2:42:00 PM
    You better believe, indeed I have read this through.....And Wha???? You expect me to criticize...............I think not, my fair lady!! I may learn from you....but who am I to criticize such excellence, it would give me a ranting concussion, LOL!! ...nope can do...applaud yes (you paint the moon)!! Oh yes...May I take on Yakety Yak in your contest...please????? :)

  1. Date: 8/5/2010 1:04:00 PM
    Deborah, Amazing how well you tell a story. Jerri

  1. Date: 8/4/2010 3:26:00 AM
    Thanks for pointing me in this direction. I have yet to read the second part. I really enjoyed this as your words paint such a detailed picture of the life that was Van Gogh. Such a great painter and yet such a tortured existence. You have successfully captured that here. Part 2 coming up! Lightwalker

  1. Date: 6/4/2010 7:16:00 AM
    oh wow--this is a gem of a sestina (both parts), Van Gogh would be touched!! Didn't get to read your blog 'til now, that's why--heehee should've signed up from here--so there'll be somebody who'll love me forever ;) thanks again for my catch phrase--didn't get to see that Mae West movie, but I'll sure come up with something ;) Thanks!!

  1. Date: 6/1/2010 3:20:00 PM
    wowie zowie you know I loved this - both parts - ok gimme x marks the spot. but don't hate me if I back out. is that ok to ask??? : )) xoxoxo

  1. Date: 6/1/2010 2:33:00 PM
    You invited me to a masterpiece,a beauty . .lets cont..Celene

  1. Date: 6/1/2010 2:32:00 PM
    I tell them perfect grammer is prose ... we are poets, we make new things out of the imperfection of nothingness ... if we can escape the concussion ... of restyling truth.

  1. Date: 6/1/2010 2:29:00 PM
    I told my daughter that language is the mask, so that we may not communicate I told my daughter words are veiled by ideas and social meaning, when all they want to mean is us. I told my curiosity, where is this poem going so deep into the infinite limit of the finite genius? I tell the poet, how like Van to become so all of us. A schizophrenic concussion is the shattering of our myth into dust ...what a noble phoenix dream

  1. Date: 6/1/2010 1:27:00 PM
    Van Gogh was a troubled man, but sometimes geniuses are inclined toward madness. I think you paint his pain and confusion very well in your poem, Deborah. I saw your blog and if "Off with Her Head" is not taken, could I claim it? All the phrases look good. Best wishes, Carolyn

  1. Date: 6/1/2010 1:20:00 PM
    I just saw your blog. Please sign me up!! I love numbers 13 through 17!! Hurry, sign me up!! Ha ha! I haven't even checked the contest yet. Chris.

  1. Date: 5/18/2010 10:10:00 AM
    I am awe-struck, not only from your talent, I know your talent very well, always unlimited to the creation and innovation of ideas as such, yet I am really awe-struck to several verses in your writing, such as the last ending verse, that I see in me, and what I hide from those who not only do not understand, yet also can't understand due to their lack of true curiosity and also to the fear that they might judge. A masterpiece, and, yet also curious, time for part 2. Love, Sami.

  1. Date: 5/18/2010 5:23:00 AM
    haha listen to you... this is fantastic, but you dont need me to tell you that... and i am the absolute worst when it comes to correct grammar... but i happend to notice yours wasnt perfect either. lol personally i enjoy the flaws tho. in my opinion it expresses more character and lets me know that the person that wrote it is real and original. as far as wanting my input... you are a wonderful writer, excellent expressionist, and an exceptional person! but im sure you already knew all that ;)

  1. Date: 5/18/2010 4:59:00 AM
    I'm astounded by the depth of your profoundly creative mind..a magnificient piece.! I am fortunate, for I've yet to read the second part.:) I feel great empathy for this Van Gogh, Deborah. This one of whom you've depicted with delicacy and diplomacy. Beautifully done! God bless you and yours!! with love, Mikki

  1. Date: 5/17/2010 3:11:00 PM
    A piece to be proud of , such descriptive words~I've read both and your word choices are truly an inspiration , the angles and pictures you've painted are an imagery of deep intention~I love it when it flows together as both have for you~my mind ponders and searches as a seed has been planted , I wait a yield~~~~Thank you Rick

  1. Date: 5/15/2010 7:58:00 PM
    This is not exactly to form, when I wrote it I didn't know there should be only 6 stresses per line and it should have been metered..but I still liked it...fret

  1. Date: 5/14/2010 8:58:00 AM
    Its amazing how you have chosen words and imagination, Debbie! Very good write and I am keen to read part two now! Thank you for sharing this piece of art with us and for "facebooking" me! Gert

  1. Date: 5/13/2010 4:18:00 PM
    yes! it lines-up nicely in fav's this way! I @@ yer >> jimmsy

  1. Date: 5/13/2010 1:12:00 PM
    ...onward I go !..... james

  1. Date: 5/12/2010 8:49:00 PM
    Wow... about all I can say. amazing!

  1. Date: 5/3/2010 4:36:00 PM
    This is fabulous writing, Deb. You've captured his essence! I, as a mediocre artist, have often identified with Van Gogh's feelings and smiled with pride that though I may feel like him. I have not cut off my ear! Mental illness inspires, imagines, and devastates until life ends. I'll soon be back to painting...but not for approval. I think that striving to please others instead of painting because of the passion is what makes the difference between life and death. I learned from his life.

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