Best Asylums Poems
Harassing me for days now
Landing on my eyelid
Nosing up my nostril
Tickling my ankles
and every other exposed body part
Little bastard...
Fly-Swatter? Jack be nimble, Jack...
Folded bath towel? (Lamp destroyed)
Raid? Sprayed til I sneezed and choked
and had to quickly retreat outside
(I may have poisoned myself)
Little bastard...
Last night it buzzed me awake
I injured various body parts
(Bloody nose, ruptured eardrum)
Little bastard...
I want to murder it
I want to assassinate it
but I want to capture it first
pull off it’s puny little wings
and watch it scramble on the floor
all the while crawling behind
laughing, shouting and jeering
'How you like THEM apple peelings?'
before I jump to the ceiling (Boink)
before I stomp and then grind
in a mad and homicidal rage
Little bastard...
Epilogue:
Whew! I’m feeling pretty okay now
The medication helps immeasurably
I know now why they’re called Asylums
They are refuge from a brutal environment
a world dominated and controlled by---Bssst!!
Little BASTARD...
Life according to John Lawless
Real Life
a childish attempt to gather leaves
on a windy day
looking out the window at the rain
wearing swim suit and goggles
standing in the mud – wondering
why you just couldn’t resist it
a yard sale of emotions
tarnished and tagged
Ah Life
Curator of the hearts mausoleum
Guardian of guilt’s abyss
Overseer of the asylums mind
Debunker of both truths and lies
Still Life
a childish attempt at growing old
looking out the window at the rain
gazing at the mud – wondering
why life couldn’t just leave you alone
10/29/2015
submitted to – Life according to…. – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Silent One
Press and dry; stamped aneath a logo of their own design....
This colourful pigment melting upon red velvet seals
Via the telegraph wires amid these morse code keys
Songbirds, singing their midnight songs unto me!?
Compositions notes to be transcribed from symbol sheets
Covering myself with these their, queen size needs....
Fine silks formed about the countless threads
Words spoken atop their crowned in turquoise, sweet asylums
Letter heads; bejeweled tokens to wear as shining bracelets true
Postmortum promises and then yes, we're wed too....
Pressed and dried; stamped with a logo of their own design
Two steps ahead and side to side, within this, a poetess rhyme?!
Buried between the tilling soils of her rose laden bush
Planted in a portrait that she painted afore the crimson earth
Picturesque, tangled amid her own twist and curls....
Spinning spools which she spun in gardens you see
As she cast her fragrant bouquet webs for all to be
Breathe; delusions digested through her smoke and screen!?
Coloured pigments melted upon stardust dreams; red velvet
Via telegraph wires of higher and highers, morse code me's....
Sealed into their blue realm desires marked in these; infatuations
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Black Balloons Floating By” ~
Decades of a formula that only he knew about it and drew,
Cascades of his artwork came to a head in his last years,
Glissades of a swan in a lake that only a handful had seen,
Tirades made its mark on him, distant from fellow peers.
~~[Van Gogh]~~
Impressed of his art garnered some interest in his style,
Oppressed, a constant companion only he can befriend,
Obsessed by what he drew insanely violent he withdrew,
Distressed he found salvation in asylums to not descend.
~~[Wheatfield With Crows]~~
Crows, black gawking, feed in a meadow ache for harvest,
Know that art needs to be made, scheme food for thought,
Those sinister birds, a murder of crows festering the grain,
Throes a fit mocking 'em, flys, pained him more than aught.
~~[Starry Night]~~
Bleak sky of blues, stars gave rise to a miracle been made,
Streak of a sprawl unfurls his heavens tethered madness,
Speak not lest he loses his concentration, maintains focus,
Meek town his groundwork, lofty jewel amidst the sadness.
~~[Bedroom At Arles]~~
Red, that laid on a bed, table, chairs, paintings on the wall,
Said was where he severed his ear, water bowl mirror hung,
Head bandaged where he bled, he does a self-portrait of it,
Deadman walking, Gauguin part ways, no song to be sung.
~~[Self-Portrait Bandage Ear And Pipe]~~
Drew closer, when they were both young, be such friends,
Few friends Van Gogh had, Gauguin was at that moment,
Grew apart after Vince shaving Paul, Vince wanted to hurt,
Knew time together was getting just a bit grave and potent.
~~[House At Auvers]~~
Return to Arles made Van Gogh happy for good times there,
Upturn spirits was a rarity, too few and far in the middle,
Discern with him was questionable because he's unstable,
Concern for his good, art kept him busy, else is second fiddle.
~~[Doctor Gachet]~~
Fields back of the house, a pistol, he plans to shoot himself,
Wields his pistol, shoots, nobody hears, years gun lays hidden,
Yields his brother Theo to his side as doctor aides him little,
Shields truth futile, his art was world-renown, dies bedridden.
We're in the foothills of a second civil war
the divide between left and right
burning and widening
Peace undermined by the rich behemoth... indifference
the uneven eye of the media leviathan
universities raping our children's minds
impregnating with stalinleninputinxi disease.
Slapping lady liberty in the mouth
with metal dongs of intolerance.
Cutting out tongues of freedom of speech-of religion-of differing opinion
and the socialist/commies and pacifist wonder why
we the people are stockpiling high caliber rights.
It's because mad clowns are running the government
entitled mad dogs are crapping in the streets
the elite and naive emptying jails and asylums
onto our streets.
While they sleep soundly behind gated communities
while their storm troopers are slicing the stars from old glory
never satisfied with anything.
Always burning and cutting and running-reaping
never sitting-talking -discussing-seeding...
burning tongues and bloody stars.
Amassing in the foothills of the second civil war.
Jails-asylums are bleeding out because of naivety.
Now the unhinged mad dogs are working out their kinks.
On the neckbones of society.
Nowhere is safe for your sons and daughters.
Not even pine needle trails, where they seek peace.
two legged copperheads behind trees and under every leaf.
You've passed them before-those wild-eyed things.
Firecracker souls looking for a syringe of gasoline...
They're ambush predators, wrapped in snakeskin.
Mace will do you no good.
No guns allowed in nature preserves.
Just off trail, a thousand shallow graves of the naive.
Hanging from hooks, all on the wall
All the dead babies, no one cares at all
Murdered for the cameras, so you will weep
Asylums for the weeping, dead babies make you crazy
Sadness fills the diapers of dead babies entombed
Kindness you never see, just a dead baby in a propaganda sea
Illuminate the terror, no dead babies to be
Live for your hate, let the dead babies die
Live in your dreams, as dead babies cry
Silence, I said silence
Babies in graves do not sing
A single angel of reason in the mist of a circus ring
Bring the evil ones to me for their crimes
Injustice I shall punish and hell I shall define
Eternal flames for the ha mass of dead babies
Satin is your king, I shall be your tormentor
72 billion years of fiery hell for all of you
Hateful attackers’ mindless attitudes seduced
Today is Doomsday.
Some believe today is Doomsday
Some say maybe the end of the year
However, do we really care?
How would the earth end?
In a ball of fire or
would it swallow us up into puff of dust
in a matter of an hour..
I rather am buried under pile of snow.
Eternal Preservation "what a nice way to go
However do we have option in a world?
Where lunatics have taken over asylums
where deranged souls spreading like a social cancer
Is doomsday the answer..?
White warriors battle in my blood and yours
Holy crusaders, a selfless, sacrificial corps
Sinister, malignant foes in red rivers quicken
Legions of paladins on the battlefield lay stricken
Now extend your scope, envision the whole globe
Behold this world wrapped in its rancid, rancorous robe
Dungeons, asylums built for the wicked, and culpable
Disuniting one body into the judge and the untouchable
“If a house be divided against itself, that house cannot stand”
This ancient, ancestral teaching we still cannot understand
Thousands of years have passed, the answer remains the same:
Nothing must be left in the shadows, forgotten, a victim of blame
She wore silver-golden rings,
She drove the newest Ferrari,
She was so incredibly scary
That stuff from the labeled glam bliss
Would still never help.
Yet he paid for this.
They said they were so in love!
He loved her blow jobs with eyes closed
As much as to hear her boast
Her f--- was the best on the Earth.
Asylums of ****
Would pay for them both.
She had sex and dough in her life,
She called it a trifle of dwelling.
However, she passed her excelling
Blow skills to lame-practised mate whores.
Why didn't he guess
She just wanted more?
Irony bit its lip, as the blood of tears....
Seventeen years of age and but a child still; lost amid the daze; haze?!
Standing in front of the silver glass, this somewhat handsome young lad
Popular, athletic, surrounded by girls whom adored; with razor blade in hand
The perfect night towards days tale, of the telling of two lives....
Longing to be loved yet, destroying it upon its very way; dusk to dawn
And back again; a posters child for the psychologically raped and maimed!?
Jekyll and Hyde only in the sense of the world outside, these broken windows
Wintery gust permeating his red rooms often, place in time; mind....
Traveling down the steepest mountain sides, amid the blackness of starless skies
Beauty, just another slash within the malignant corpse of his walking dead?!
As hearts became casualties strewn with his very own alongst this, foraged path
Facing the daunting beast while as quickly becoming its mangled image; in like....
Peering back into these mirrored eyes afore such crimsons reflections
Always taunting and mocking and gnawing upon every life of which it can!?
Destined in turn for a season passing suicidals asylums; temps revolving doors
But even there the shadows of poisoned lingered to be fed; insatiable their thirst
Bled, in the wake of locomotions spellbound overdrive; this macabre....
Fast forward now as the decades journeyed to impart; mirrors, images, conceptions
Ironies muse; and not so innocent anymore nor helpless, hopeless or naive?!
Instead of a razors slicing edge at hand tis but that of a flaming sword; given
Beyound the valley in the taste of death anointed; into, this fiery fire formed....
****************************************************************
...."A Childs Tears of Clay" ~
Ink Stains
I have two tabs open, forgot to eat, the studio has no lighting and it smells like cigarettes, but I don’t smoke
There's napkins piled by my library, but they’re not stained with semen, the desert is framed on my wall and my thoughts are written below
It's been cold way too long, I read the tales of madmen and junkies to feel comfortable, and at the same time having mild panic attacks
Sleep is only six hours long and I always wake up fully dressed, as seen with my own eyes from above
The Manhattan Bridge is abandoned, the Bowery looks lonesome, the paddy wagons are frozen, The Chrysler's forgotten, his brother is where people climb up to the roof, just to jump off
1st Ave is nothing but insane asylums and wealth, everywhere I go I'm surrounded by trust funds, who make it hard for me to go anywhere,
The East Village used to be Punks, now its cunts
I leave my stain everywhere I go, I am now the older generation
Every morning I'm by the East River, my heart is lost in Europe, and my writing is stuck in New York
My muse is an angel, and I am possessed
I am a drinker, and a romantic, I'm a spic, but also human, I cry because I'm sensitive
My hair is messy and my eyes are fire bombed, my breath is rotten and the paste is clay
My pockets have bled in Washington Square Park, my pants are now stained, and my screams remain silent.
Glitter glue laced ticker tape....
Of colourful confetti covering such sight
More and more, their eyes dipped in tars
Infectious quills, beneath these softened feathers
Penetrating, their own fatalities cryptograms....
As they aimlessly blend a colludeds pretentious purpose?
Bending this times fading, unto its very own knees!
Within these, their poisoned spoiled schemes
Buried beneath such smiling lotus faces; cracked
These mannequins dressed in their own dark blank black....
Messengers without a promises clue; not knowing whom they are?
Perditions offspring they seem; these, children of the sintarians star
Venin poised at the tip of their tongues!
Hidden, behind sacrilegious' ruby red lips
Drippings, of a partings depository decay?
Trying to spread their gangrenous green blood
Throughout my venous' veraciously pulsing veins
Like liquid streams of futility....
These pantomimes' grand charades
Parabolics, with hollowed fangs!
Puppets, upon their powdered strings
Amid the soul asylums sanctuary
Of the indeed, vanguards inane....
Colourless confetti, permeating my sight
This contributor, of the jet black pain
Spawned, by the principality of invectives, inverted cross
The bleakest paramour amid the paralax of their unknowings
Souls, thrice times dead....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Perditions Parade
Betwixt these tithes at her antiquities keen asylums; a foretokens child esoteric
Paleolithic etchings; afore their myths the caverns Acheron's absolved; loric tides..
Acute, this illness ironic it's stones ? Theology sects scribes a second coming as time.
What holds us together
has been torn, the unity
of a people split apart.
Both poles have lost
their grip and rupture
into division.
Categories now proliferate
and place each soul
into a labeled box governed
by the ideologue.
Word by word, language
has been commandeered by fear
and threatened with shame.
Good words are put on trial,
stripped of meaning and sentenced
to silence. They sleep in old books
sought out by the apparatchiks
for removal or to be replaced
by neutered covers.
Soon Macbeth will be lobotomized
to reduce the risk of upset.
The grand order has gone mad.
Long lines of citizenry queue
for entry into asylums
now spreading
like shopping malls.
Others won't leave home
and ossify in the safety
of their shuttered rooms.
Meanwhile, to the chants
of a sterilized song,
children skip towards
glittering castles hanging
precariously in thin air,
proud parents happily
clapping them along.