Best Adrenal Poems
Nightgowns on at 9:01
Adrenal induced delerium
Santa’s journey has surly begun
To our beds, we were a scurrying
Closed eyes, at 9:05
But sleep would not come easy
We’d twist and turn, side to side
At least til 5 past 3
Then somewhere before, 3:44
Sleep would come, by chance
Til little sis would creep through the door
Ready to sneak a glance
Prowling the stairs, side by side
And past the grandfather clock
Which, by now, was reading 4:55
Five ticks before each tock
Around the bin and into the den
Stood our sparkling 8 foot tree
Palms were there, to catch our chins
We’d gaze til 5:03
Up the stairs, new teddy bear
Little sister, close behind
Sound asleep, to prepare
For the alarm at 6:59
Hey my dear butterfly!
Welcome to a land of joy!
Red, yellow, pink and blue
Flowers that drenched in dew
Yearning for your silent kisses
And glimpsing the scene, gives us bliss
Flowers that just unfold
Awaiting your sweet bound
On seeing you whirling around
Words unroll, pen poems abound
Hey my dear butterfly
Welcome to a land of joy
Plunging into the pure colors of paradise
You make me travel into a land I fantasize
Dancing to the tunes of bliss
You make me sing a song surprise
Hey my dear butterfly
Welcome to a land of joy
On seeing you, flying with your friend
"This is a poetry" utters my mind
And when you fortuitously land on my hand
Rushes the adrenaline, my adrenal gland
Hey my dear butterfly!
Welcome to a land of joy!
After your arrival,
The world looks more beautiful
As you spread joy and beautify!!!
She was the nadir of affection
like a scorned lover, hell-bent on revenge.
She was still like a fresh flower, a sight for sore eyes.
David was told she was once jilted
by the beau of the town,
now hell-bent to wreak havoc on men
who unknowingly felt her black spider's charm.
He was not known to her; he was not introduced.
So, it was easy to ignore her, despite the warnings
of his soul. For did not his heartbeat faster?
And adrenal flow in quantities above the norm?
Yet he remained aloof, played hard to get,
knowing that was the way to beat her down.
He had no magic or dreams to weave,
no moon dust, mystic herbs or love potions,
only his determination and wily will.
For they were as alike as two mountain peaks
covered with hard white snow and tricky paths,
dangerous slopes and precipitating avalanches.
Perhaps the predator savoured more the chase.
She began to notice, and David was yearning more.
Until the day arrived when they looked into
each other's eyes and knew the outcome of the game.
Gone was the last speck of hope,
the shred of possibility, the promise of a new love
loomed like a giant glacier and the dice were cast.
The deadly demons in them were loose.
Idyllic days passed sensuously by a farce of fervour.
He had to save himself for her clutches could hurt,
claws that could cut deep within the soul.
So, like the knave he was, he slinked away
left her to her own devices and saved his pride.
She was not easy to forget, he dreamt of her often,
nor was it easy to forgive himself, especially when
he heard the news that she had killed herself.
23 September 2022
ONE FROM THE DARK SIDE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John lawless
Let free-fall guide your vertigo
As adrenalin rushes into waterfalls
Eyes and skin tight like water up the nose
Bubbles bursting with lightning strikes then
Soggy silence in turquoise splendour
Watery eyes fade quiet lights and adrenal fatigue
Sinking depths into cooler blues, as bubbles float on silky notes
Downward spirals into salty dreams of broken coral then
Springboard from the sandy bottom
Scuttling to the top chasing lazy bubbles
Choking on the light grabbing fistfuls of madness
Bursting lungs with rusty air as
Blood pounds loud through skin and salt
Whilst pulled from the brink of eternity
To dripping smiles and screaming tears
Yet upright again, you head to the edge
Step free from your guide...
Low in the valley a voice grumbles
In a melancholic tone, baritone
Like a wounded beast moaning in the night
So lonely, makes one wonder about things
Higher still, the same melody repeats
Echoes through the trees and ruffles the leaves
Alto horn I should think, calmer like mist
I am loping with the beast in my mind
Then strings enter the scene, quietly first
Creeping up on us, like adrenal lush
Deep snorts breaking the air, our hooves trundle
Higher we wonder, and the piccolo
The crescendo is near, as the dawn breaks
Things of wonder echo alone inside
He only asked for her number,
Knowing not it was a huge blunder,
Thought their relationship could be strong,
but the digits she gave him were wrong,
She seemed shy and innocent,
This made him propose an engagement,
Promised to think it over,
Whether or not she would be his lover,
His heart paused for a while,
when she gave out her half-Monalisa smile,
His adrenal level went high,
And the best relief was when he sigh,
All she said translated to a lie,
Of which if he thinks of, he want to cry,
Her cousin she said the young lady was,
Only to turn out she was her boss,
Message he gets as his phone beep,
Struggles to wake from his sleep,
Just to read, "MY NUMBER DELETE"
He wondered if this meant he was late,
She ignored him but against her own will,
She knew to see him she wanted still,
Unfortunately limit between them had been set,
Time for each other, they can no longer get.
It is worn, patched, and tattered, frayed about the edges. It has at times offered me adrenal ascendency, scared me out of my wits, challenged me to act, or to be still. Its warmth has often failed me. Its compass deviated from true north or at times just ignored. I was told to “wear it as a loose garment”, yet it often felt too restraining or cumbersome. Still it is my choice to slip into it each morning, share a quiet moment, a sip of coffee, a laugh about a patch or stain.
It is more frail now, more likely to require re-stitching of old wounds and faded patches. And yet it serves me well. Its distant colors chuckle as we recall a hot sauce stain, that bar in Angelo, the too often sewed pocket still holds its own. Several of the “original” buttons remain to taunt the newer ones. None are sure where the others went, or why.
And so we sip coffee and recall the tears and joys of birthday cakes, of babies snuggled in its flannel fierceness, and carry on.
loosely worn garments
a history of flannel
frayed edges of life
2/25/2023
It Means A Lot To Me Poetry Contest
Street-lights golden nuggets on a plane
I shimmer with anticipation
Aircraft dips left like a soaring hawk
Golden eyes zero in on its prey
Aloft and descending turbulence
Undercarriage open like talons
Binocular vision so alert
As screeching rubber thumps the tarmac
Decelerate adrenal glands pump
Undoing buckles my thoughts floating
About casual normality
Within casual catastrophe
We have naturally come so far
Yet I feel so unnatural here
Aircraft mobiles cars cities and things
Overwhelming sophistication
Better to lie in my earthen bed
Feeling the pulse of my heart beating
Better to be the hawk in the sky
Feeling the wind ruffle through my wings
Kill or cure alls of the mind are in the bottles,
with dual instructions, take at one’s own risk.
Swim in an ocean of salt, options one has as
the eyes burn, “I wonder what on earth is the matter.”
Relieving the symptoms of gout could be the cure that
brought the heart attack about. The mind's panacea, could
eventually by it’s own illusion be the cause of earth's pandemic
pandemonium. All options of one’s mind, limits all possibilities,
as the thrill is in the adrenal rush, thus being the mind's main thrust!
As a healthy man of 66, I personally don’t need the adrenaline fix,
balancing my heart’s love between the reality of the plus and minus.
While manifesting the love nature in the paranormal cure.
And that being, the yin and the yang, the female and the male,
the act of love between the two, which is actually the glue;
the true cure we all must eventually pursue. Or stay in our persona
houses divided, picking the poisons of our mind's own divisions!
Loosely based on the movie Arsenic and Old Lace.
I’m sure you’ll excuse the rambling for that is what
the movie was like — an adrenal rush of dark and crazy!
Teddy Roosevelt: “Bully for you.”
BULLY FOR POISON
no pantywaist.
puts his big boy pants on.
deals with his bully
brother and his odd sidekick.
his uncle bugles at tiptop,
races downstairs,
keeps going
to the gullet —
the belly of the whale.
a grave situation.
tools laid out...
twisted...
menacing..
are his aunts a menace too?
but so sweet to his fiance
while they (let me say
this with the voice of Margaret Hamilton)
“Poison...poison…”
oh don’t worry!
they are only helping
lonely old men.
elderberry wine
sounds delicious
and zany.
Mortimer gets ever more
drunk
on crazy
as he finds bodies in window seats
and buried “in the locks,” below.
in the end he,
like his Uncle
(Teddy Roosevelt) blows
his bugle,
races downstairs,
figuring he must be
cuckoo, for he’s related
to the bunch of nuts.
honeymooners pack up the whole bunch
in paddy wagons, straight jackets,
whatever it takes.
he finds out he can’t relate,
he’s adopted.
wipes off his forehead,
kisses his aunts,
rides off into the sunset.
his kids will never visit.
he warns them of drinking,
especially when they are lonely old men.
teaches his daughters not to mix drinks.
he hopes of his adopted family, he’s seen the last.
he will keep tabs.
3/11/2021
Deafening crowd,
Definitely shout,
Defyingly loud,
Undeniably wow’d.
Hands stretched to the ceiling.
Sweat beaded faces.
Driven by the feeling.
Adrenal speed races.
Been here before,
But never quite so right.
It’s in the air tonight.
My kind of night!
In the Chronicles of time our love
is written like a fine wine aged
with time.
A lineage of passion and adoration,
of cooing and wooing of love we
both hold near and dear.
It is the story of the dame and the sir.
A story of love and passion with no
cure that will forever endure.
Entries where snow thawed in the
moments of fire and desire.
Where eyes suspend in a trance
by agenda glance.
Where lips hunger for the soft yet subtle
brush of the ones lips they adore to wear.
Rising blush upon our cheeks reminds
us of the adrenal rush.
Our heart beats like a lone drummer pounding
to clone one another’s anticipation.
For your embraces, there is no compensation.
I want to hide between your shoulders
away from the view of the world.
Lost in the depths of your love and strong embrace.
Our love is written in the sage Chronicles
of time of two lovers like fine wine,
aged by time.
Tic tok, is that a clock?
Counting down, familiar sound.
I think I hear the click’s as clear,
Faint resonance that’s carried ‘round.
A watched kettle never boils,
A memory will never spoil.
Another shock to breach this air, than
A ticking clock that’s somewhere there.
Clap trap, the sound of feet?
Someone I'm supposed to greet?
Adrenal glands begin to flow,
What’s to unfold, I do not know!
Times tiny segments clip my space,
And lacerate this sombre place,
No protection, I'm exposed,
To fates intrusive, probing nose.
What the hell have I done wrong?
Why on Earth cant I belong,
Wonder, worry always meet,
Woeful ends I try to cheat.
You wait
In chortled glee
Time’s ticking toll
Sharpening itself
‘neath your dark robe
And I
Poor fool
Fear not your sting
As naught is left
But tatters
Of past now’s
And you
Life’s dark companion
Have counted every step
Held sway
Lest I falter
Seasoned my errors
With adrenal angst
I wait
In grimaced glee
Enshrouded
In an endless
Thinning veil
Awaiting
C H I is the placeholder of your W I L L embarked
REALIZED unto R E S O L V E
RESOLVE to ignite DESIRE's S P A R K
MEDITATION on the P A S S I O N
Solves :
DEDICATION of the F A S H I O N
Z O N E of ESTROGEN, TESTOSTERONE, ADRENAL-
ENDORPHIN-PINEAL-P R O D U C T I O N
The P I N E A L-control of the G L A N D S
in poetic ORGAN
J O Y of B E L I E F
As O N E at H A N D