Best Apoplexy Poems
Hypochondrial Delusion
A mind corrupted canker
Of cystic self failure
Even gastric anorexia
And fluttery throb to alight the fear
An adrenaline generated tachycardia
That matches respiration
And causes hyperventilation
With invasive pacy rhythm
And palpitating violation
To anxious infarction
In schizoid arrest
A hepatic paranoia
of dermal yellow
And lily liver assault
That feeds a life non start
Of malignant low self esteem
A delusional malaise
Of apoplectic panic
And stressful apoplexy
A localized dorsal twinge
To further worry
Lumbar or thoracic or
Renal calculi or a case of
Bulimic nausea and peptic ulcer
To stoke the festering psyche
Of somatic obsession
Embolic anguish that leads to
A hypertensive strain
With muscular tremor and distorted vision
And a full blown occulogyric crisis
Ensued by catatonia
Comatosed by
Psychotic breakdown and
Inactive body systems
A perusal of the medical book
Confirms the diagnosis of
Life threatening
Hypochondria
Who’s on top?
Really,
You didn’t know that it’s a contest?
After all,
There can only be one
Poet Laureate can’t there?
Both’s fingernails are bleeding,
Both’s knees are scraped and scabbed,
Both sweating profusely from the strain
Of climbing the sheer rocky face of passion,
Their injuries mostly self-inflicted.
(All poets are born stinkers!)
Poetry is not a day at the beach
Where the only hazards
Are forgotten suntan lotion,
Or that your Mai Tai is low
Because service is not up to par.
Or a day on the golf course
Where your only gain is
A lighter wallet, which cannot really serve you
At your next Weight-Watchers weigh-in.
Apoplexy coloring your future
As yet another ball lands in the drink.
And certainly not a game of tennis
Where service is de rigueur, isn’t it?
Though I swear,
There is more Physics in women’s outfits,
(Action/Reaction - You know!
Do women ever play fair?)
Than in any momentum, spin, or angle
A man can even contemplate.
So who’s on top?
Ask the woman!
Does ‘top’ even matter?
She’s where she wants to be.
A man can only dream! Ha!
Brian Johnston
October 21, 2014
Enjoy your techno-toys while you can;
As you frantically surf the internet
In a vain, pathetic attempt to "keep up"
With meaningless jumbles of jibber-jabber
Which you consider essential information.
All those gotta-have gadgets you crave
Like some new kind of 21st-Century addict
Are gouging a hole out of your soul
As they maintain a sensation of completeness
By filling you up with pastries for the mind.
Your tedious little pompous amusements,
(For that is all they are, in fact), could
Someday soon be wrenched from your so-called
Lives by the merest whim of our nearby star
When it casually spews raging plasma our way
In a blithely impersonal Coronal Mass Ejection.
Perhaps then you'll acquire some notion
Of how much of yourself you've invested in
Virtual Reality over actual reality, in Oxy-
Moronic "on-line relationships" with people you
Have never met, whose voices you'll never hear.
Your legions of electronic "friends" will
Evaporate in the space of a few short minutes
And you'll run screaming down the corridors of
Your mansions and tenement buildings in searing
Paroxysms of apoplexy before your brains finally
Implode and you all plunge into everlasting coma!
CONSIDER, THOU BRAIN
Would thou consider, Brain
How much is the worth
I have strived these many years
From childish curl to bristly grey hair
In other for thee to reason and
Be the base of ingenuity to life?
For this, I schooled thee
Here and overseas in alien soils
Larning to enhance thy noesis
Journey round climes and sites
Of earth for thy exposure
And get thee conform to the times.
For thy sake I have subject
The other members to suffer
From sleep, food and labour
From leisure and exercises
All for thy restless quest
To discover, know and create.
But thou hast not yet reached
The end of thy quest and suffer
With all thy conjectures.
Beware to what thy reasoning
Is leading unto…thy own demise
For there is no end to knowing.
Thou hast become apathetic
And prone to apoplexy
With all features aged before time
Because thou hast failed to realize
Einstein is common sense by which
Thy crude forbears have rest!
One-third off,
sixty-six percent marked down quality
At the voting booth bazaar,
base gypsy thoughts are belly dancing
around your capitalist-veiled head
You like what that smiling politician said;
promising you a lot of green bread,
come get your lying share
Saying you gon have so many job offers,
corporate courting you to their employment bed
Every four years,
work is always
glamour sold as being so sexy
Balaam’s mule is shaking his hemorrhaging head
Dire diagnosis: Voter apoplexy, I’m afraid —
campaign promises are clinging on life support
State of emergency inaugural arrival,
listen to what the Surgeon General said:
Democracy is flatlining ... ‘bout to go brain dead
And the lobbyist mortician merchants are free-market shilling:
Get the funeral voter discount,
an ivory coffin is life insurance tax-cut pre-paid
Vote for the wizard you do know ...
follow the Oz path to perdition,
where yellow bricks of cruel compassion are laid
William Sawden
1893-1917
On the southern facade,
Of the Golden Rule Store,
On Greenleaf Avenue to the north,
There is a single window,
On the third floor up.
Behind the white half open curtain,
Facing south and southwest,
A sixteen year old boy, once employed there,
Was on his knees facing east.
He was praying earnestly
For a miracle from God.
With words audible and vehement,
Mention was made of a sick father,
A father succumbing to depression and confusion,
To fear and apoplexy.
The father, a man I once respected,
A man I once admired as honest and true,
A good man with a kind disposition; now
Was trapped in the deep pit,
A dark hellish hole,
Of liquid spirits and utter hopelessness.
“Dear God,” the boy intoned. “Please,
Please save my father from himself,
Deliver him from
His outraged seething soul.”
The boy remained there fifteen minutes,
Praying amidst the wash tubs and the skillets;
And finally, as a drowsy rain
Fell to earth that day,
The boy behind the curtain fell prostrate there,
And cried salty tears of loud desperation,
To augment the afternoon drizzle.
“I am half here and half gone,” the boy said.
“Please God, help us!”
And now, as I lie here,
Dead and decayed in the grovelling ground
Of Mt. Olive Cemetery,
I am completely gone,
Gone as the forgotten wind
That once whispered words of hope,
To the quiet lonely ones,
As I was then.
“Thank you God,
My precious redeemer.
Indeed, you heard my words that day,
As I knelt there,
Faithfully facing east.
Hercule Poirot entered Santa Claus’s large factory, shivering with cold. The great detective looked back and saw Frosty the Snowman grinning with delight. Hercule brushed off the snow from his impeccable suit, wiped his dainty shoes and arranged his moustache. Though he was in full trimming, he wondered why he was summoned to Winter Fairyland at the North Pole.
elves came out dancing around him singing Jingle Bells. “Ho, Ho, Ho,” cheered Santa. “So, you’ve arrived. A sirop de menthe for the great detective. He needs to warm up.”
Always polite, Hercules asked, “You need my services, Monsieur?”
“Of course. We have a sledge full of toys. Christmas is tomorrow. Tonight we must deliver the toys. Six reindeer are ready, but the leader, Rudolph has lost the red from his nose. Who will guide the sledge?”
Poirot almost had apoplexy. To be driven in the cold with sleigh bells ringing and losing his concentration, all because of a red nose? But he was a man of honour and so he investigated. Rudolph had a cold, and someone gave him medication. The red on the nose disappeared. What to do? Rudolph came in quietly and saw the glass of sirop. Poirot offered the glass to Rudolph who began to lick it. Lo and behold, the nose turned red.
Santa and the elves danced. A great feast took place including the turkey with its trimmings. Afterwards, Santa offered Poirot a drive back home.
“Don’t worry, you won’t have to enter any chimney,’ laughed Santa.
Sledge bells rang, a bottle of the best sirop was given to the detective and Rudolph drove Hercule home.
“Happy Christmas,” shouted the elves. And another Poirot mystery was easily solved.
With apologies to Agatha Christie.
King Edward The VIIIth, pitiable blighter, abdicated the throne.
He had the hots for an American divorcee - this the Brits would not condone!
He was King for a spell and the paramours continued their torrid romance.
They later wed, he was busted to Duke of Windsor and they settled in France.
Wallis Simpson was middle-class but knew how to climb the social rungs.
She was twice divorced which triggered a legion of wagging tongues.
They met at Lady Furness's digs and Wallie thought Eddie not all that sexy,
But they wed incurring upon The Archbishop of Canterbury a case of apoplexy!
Entry for Carolyn Devonshire's "Clerihew Couples For Valentines Day" Contest
(10 January 2019)
don't even think about it
a bucket of motel ice in the face
proving the thing in itself does not exist
because he registered all the meanings all the time
with a nausea so profound
the retching never ended
rearranging all my proteins
in a hypnotic anarexo-bulemic frenzy
I marched to the beat of crawling flesh
an x-rated dermatologist tattooed Celtic blue
in an idiot ritual purification
couldn't find a long-haired dog for winter
settled for an inferno of intrigue and dissipation
in a tin shack at the edge of an endless swamp
it wasn't serenity that's a rock solid fact
the horse hairs stung across his butt
Mistress Cheetah grabbed the microphone
she had saved him from pointlessness in the past
weaving many paths upon his terrain
in a fairy tale about fairy tales
fear swept the land as a craving for snacks
the ones who get no peace rose in rebellion
ridden by that cancer of abuse
the great canon that we are but animals
the Brahmins and their bullies faced extinction
so they cut a deal to escape the cro magnon hordes
coldly calculating the cost to nations
in a curious mix of apoplexy and daring
trying to duplicate the distortions of time
a grandiose epic on the nature of Nature
and the desert of human intellect
clanked and hummed into bloom
an infectious enthusiasm swept the palisades
curing the sick and raising the dead
bypassing the humiliation of needing to lie
now if that doesn't please your ghost
here's something that will
I'll give you the formula now
in a dance of erupting minutae
if the West is decadently feudal
the East is feudaly decadent
this is my message to Earth
multiply yourself by yourself
and avoid counterfeit soothsayers
like you avoid a broken pin ball flipper
in a sea of hard financial assets
some of the angels are stuffed dolls
and confabulate without knowing it
where everyone is a game piece
tell me what is not measured
like wild geese honking through the night
part of a vast migration of souls
with the moon low and full
in a time of riches and knowing
in a teasing ****** of ignorance
in a power surge that spiked through the wires
the closer to the pillar you stood
the more transparent it all became
end of transmission
Popular Anonymity
A Lingering crowd doubts you have the courage
You are hung out to dry with insults from strangers
Imploring you to jump
Apoplexy, apathy, and will to live design you
Standing on the building edge
Perhaps the comforts of home will help
When you slip and grab a brick
With nervous fingers
Butter is sent up, applied by unknown loved ones
Giving permission from on high for you to drop
Hopes die. Friends talk to you in slow motion
Mother promises to bake a cake if you survive
Police pretend to know you on the sharp edge of your demise
For your enjoyment… Their pleasure...The crowd applauds
You’ve become the center of the nightly news and nothingness
What a surprise! Centered and served up as a sound bite (Did you catch the name?)
These concealed agenda,
unravelling soon,
Stage by stage,
man a captive to man,
manipulated,
"Liberty" is lie,
they make the boundaries,
Locked in the prison in summer
separated in winter,
distancing like foes,
disguised as animals,
collective condemnation,
these theories.
That condemns congregation,
prohibits association,
suspends education,
closed the offices,
and makes me poorer,
compelling dependency on handouts,
These Fears that Originates from Wuhan,
embellished by the media,
accepted by the doctors,
empowers their reset,
depression and fears, the tools,
beleaguered minds consenting to the suspense of their brains.
apoplexy aroused before the force,
There goes your rights to say No,
Sick or not, a Jab.
vaccination by force,
consent unnecessary,
Your right fritters away.
Here comes the medical Rape,
without my consent,
Do not Rape me.
Convulsions with consciousness.
Spasm and exaggerated sensitiveness.
Alternate constipation and diarrhoea.
Paralysis after apoplexy,parts cold,numb,
and emaciated.Coldness of whole body
and Cannot get warm in bed at night.
Choking,or spasmodic contraction in throat.
Sharp and shooting pains in thighs,with torpor
and paralytic weakness and tottering of legs.
Tendency of legs to become numb and dead.
Paralysis,coldness,and insensibility of legs.
Cramps in feet and toes.Burning itching in toes.
Spasms which the patient compares to electric shocks.
(Wehm,Nafsiyat,Aqua,Drink,Drugs,Injection,Game Over)
Can threesomes avoid apoplexy?
To have more than one might be sexy
He was amused
When his asks were confused
By the "girls" in the room called Alexi
When love disappoints, does it mean that you're failure?
I've found more than once I just needed retraining!
Your heart feels a chill? Must their love be a surfeit
Does failure seem real though true friendship survives it?
Is sunlight a failure whose warmth brings us raining?
You paint lover's petals, or offer love tenure?
How often do love's expectations raise voices?
Love tied to a leash or roam free with some limits?
Is trust part of love, or do you have a rulebook?
Your lover's eyes found you (but now denied fond look)?
Temptation must die! Or your self-esteem plummets?
Sure love's what you want? Then accept your love's choices.
There's freedom in love if you trust you are worthy
And though you aren't perfect, wear flaws in the open.
No combover options required to feel sexy,
No carrying anger that fuels apoplexy,
Gift freedom for love to be love! Things will happen!
Your progeny bless you for making life easy!
Long Tooth
August 29, 2018
Did See Determination Poems
Many of my great poems I often mention;
Am determined to get Trump's attention;
Has apoplexy;
Thinks is sexy;
In ranks created and did cause dissention.
Was determined to be determined and
continually be determined to have a
penchant to get Trump's attention.
Jim Horn