Best Basket Case Poems | Poetry

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Basket Case by Matthews, Mark

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The Best Basket Case Poems

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Weaving passed the everyday conflict,
Tiresomeness affair,
Life's obstacle.
Needle point into basket case,
Forced made to hold rotten fruit,
Mindful of matter foolishness of others.
Faith seems to slip from the hand,
Into the far yonder no reaching.

Closed eyes,
Let's play a game,
Resting at the poetry cafe.
Opened rooftop,
Glassed walls,
Seeing beauty of loveliness encicling,
Moment now to enjoy peace.
Drinking wine of poetic,
Drunken by loving words of making,
Poetry sing on scrolls.
Breezing through the muse heart,
Carrying a blanket mist from the ocean depth,
Flowing with touch spell of tickling sea current,
Letting the pen dance between season thoughts.
Paper chuckling as the ink stain letters of spelling.
Even if five minutes,
Keeping one in the sane.
So just leave eyes shut,
Seeing poetry cafe is waiting,
Anytime of the day,
Even in one's dream,
By night-

Copyright © Mark Hansen | Year Posted 2006

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My Idiom Oneliners Part 2

I noticed that the grass was always greener on the other side, as I made my way to the 18th hole and practiced my drive.

As I zip lined across with the greatest of ease, I finally noticed for the first time the forest for the trees.

That evening I again had to face the music, with baton in hand I tried not to lose it.

If my cat really has nine lives, why is he still roadkill up on the drive?

I finally threw in the towel as my washing machine let out a hungry growl.

I'd finally become a basket case as I stood before the judge with a can of mace.

We were all in the same boat, trying not to resort to cannibalism and to stay afloat.

I bit off more than I could chew, realizing this after the eating contest as I hurled and puked.

Before they went down the skiing slope, I told them to break a leg like a mindless dope.

The other day I finally went out on a limb, all the while thanking God I am pretty slim.

Haste makes waste unless you procrastinate.

They told me to keep my chin up or the the wound like a volcano would erupt.

Once more I knocked on wood, reading the "doorbell out of order" sign where I stood.

My parents always told me I had a one track mind, as I walked along the railroad tracks and read the railroad station sign.

They started dropping like flies having ignored the no fly zone sign.

Copyright © cheryl hoffman | Year Posted 2016

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Clue-Who murdered the Easter Bunny

It’s been ten days, the Easter Bunny is gone with hardly a trace,
The Missus is inconsolable- an Easter basket-case,
Evidence in plastic bags, some fibers and some fur,
The family suspects foul play, the police, they do concur,
This once pristine meadow has senselessly been fouled,
Safety and security has now been disemboweled,
“Mark my woids!” Bugs cried out “Sample that bastids’ blood!”
“No one hates rabbits more than that twisted Elmer Fudd!”
“You’re paranoid” Rodger snorted “the one who murders for kicks...
is that obvious cereal killer, the rabbit from the box of Trix,
“Wrong again” sniffed Uncle Wiggly, “you’re no kind of private-eye” 
“But speaking of tricks, when you see her next, tell Jessica that I said hi” 
“You can’t just point your finger and tell the police to slap on the cuffs”,
You’re so afraid of your own shadow; you’ve filled your pants with cocoa puffs,
Peter leapt up “A demented rabbit killer, it’s McGregor that’s plain to see!”
“He’s got my clothes on a pole in his garden, hanging in effigy!”
Wiggly shot back “…or is it gang related? Their alibis are somewhat frail”,
“Exactly where were those thugs, Flopsie, Mopsie and Cottontail?
“Hanging around Thumper and Br’er Rabbit; I tell you they’re all the same!”
“Do I really have to remind you all how Thumper got his name?”
Borrowing their hole deeper and deeper, down into that rabbit hole
Theories and explanations, none of which could console,
It will make little difference, because now there will be no Easter
The debate will go on and on, as scared rabbits talk out their keisters,
In a squalid little burrow on the wrong side of the rabbit tracks
Amid the empty red bull cans, lies a bloody axe,
On the handle of the door a “do not disturb’ sign is hanging
And in the bedroom is the Energizer; but it’s not his drum he’s banging,
There the recent widow is doing what bunnies do best,
Meanwhile across the field they are laying her hubby to rest.

March 5 1012

Copyright © Luke Irwin | Year Posted 2013

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Nothing To See Here People

Nothing  to see here people keep it moving.The child just couldn't say Thank you. He must have thought I was gonna give him some fish... but I was only teaching him how to do this...He must have thought, it was beneath him to have to sell a few fish for awhile/ he must of thought ,that I was gonna think, he owed me, I thought he knew my heart was big enough, but he must have thought my kind act weak.I thought he'd get on his feet. 

I thought he just needed a jump  start, but when I checked his lights  were out, and the engine went .click click. I looked under the hood and saw he had a faint heart beat. I sent him a new battery,but then he was out of gas.I gave him a few good tips,to put into his tank. I said run on this for awhile But he never did say thanks. My pearls were trampled under foot, and still he never knew or cared that I cried real tears.

Sometimes you have to chose your bones like  you chose your battles; The bones I  had to pick with him was ten  to his one, but still for the love I held my tongue, but he was quick to say you done me wrong,but not a word was spoken about the good deeds he received. 

He had a bone to pick.He pointed that out very quick, make sure your bone is based on truth, cause sometimes people  are without Ruth (ruthless), and  will do anything just to keep from saying .thank you!He could have said that is not my thing;Thank you anyway.I appreciate your effort , or  dam you, I don't even like fish. But  thank you" for doing something tho what you think is something, to me, is really nothing, "cause everybody owes me ". 

Plus I can't remember to say thank  you, I got turrets I mean ahh -attention deficit- yeah that's it. I only shout out obscenities, I can't remember important things.What does it mean, it means  I ain't got a heart.
I don't feel like fishing ,whatta you want;What you want ? I don't owe you nothing.
I only sold 2 a dem fish you gave me, then with the money I got drunk. " so what." fagettaboutit " he says.
I knew you were up to something ,ahhh you wanted me to say" thank you", or.." I appreciate you "! but you can forget it!.You are asking much to much.
You cannot re- start my heart with a charger kit.. close the hood and the book..  
Label me basket case number 666.  I know I am the one who didn't take the challenge...didn't fulfill his potential.
All because he could not muster up the words..thank you! to say to his Sister/mother or brother.
What a Buster!- I am done. Go ahead,try and hate me. Nothing to see here people keep moving right along, just another mother trying to give a cripple crab a crutch,whom she thought was her grateful son!

Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2011

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The Best Gift Yet

 interlocking rhyme 

Our neighbors like to give a lot; our presents, very rare.
Exchanging gifts is such a chore when timing is not fair.
Their endowments are so much more than we are wont to give;
my spouse says not a word of this, content with how they live.
I do not want to seem remiss, but how do we start quitting?
Before I start, I will come clean, it is my pride they’re hitting.
It is my honest wish to wean our friendship of its milking;
we do not need their lavish aid, and hate to be thought bilking.
Their need to give is overplayed, I am a basket case.
Is that a van parked in their drive? A moving van, what grace!
Their one last off’ring uncontrived, repaid with diddly squat.

Copyright © Reason A. Poteet | Year Posted 2015

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Presidential Inauguration 2017 - Poetic Screed - Part2

diametrically opposing forces miscarriage 
   and abort, cancel and retry to upend Vanity Fair 
   where trump defiantly makes an en rode
gauging Bernie sanders troopers as “enemy” phalanx 
   pitting American fighters, who obediently unload
lead unleashing harsh supreme weapons with soldiers 
   donned in flak jacketed mode
*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *            
heavily donned in trappings of warfare gear 
plus armed to the teeth), this haint no rumor i hear
meted measure marshaled, whence King Trump Lear
make America great again pogrom 
   comes to life after flickr of dawn silhouettes mere
minutes USA ship of state horizontally bobs and weaves near 
awakening village people amidst misty sea ap pear
blinded by shining scimitar reflection 
*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *           
   along creeks edge spurs one o pond deer 
to stand stock still while rustle slingshot braced 
   for martial law, nor blood will he spear
as vocal demonstrators protest tear
against stony faced bridging 
   gaited donnybrook game NOT oh veer
no matter devilishly exuberant, 
   fervently ferocious bear breathes 
hatred inciting loftily during tenure 
   per un four chin net year.
*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *            
a deplorable basket Case gussied up 
   evoking a charade, 
façade, and instagram faux officer on warpath against the frayed
Citizenry comprise United States of amerika, which grade
*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *             
caparisoned chief Commander looses fury of tyranny laid
upon righteous leftists accuses collusion with milch maid
ghost of Rasputin, where sirens 
   of air raids wail in sync payed
with whine of droning planes drowning sashayed.
*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *             
legitimate insurrection, where civilians risk 
life and limb in the name of inalienable rights, where obelisk
of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, 
   exemplifies constitutional directory - enumerates disc
course disallowing annulment, 
*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *             
   per forefathers/mothers freedom gave present generation heft, 
   imbuing justice and keeping 
   a lid against kleptocracy, no matter cherished capitalistic 
   covenants teetering on the brink after electric body frisk
being swept into dustbin of history. 

Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2017

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I wonder if you will ever see me,
I wonder if one day you will exist,
I wonder if one day you see my smile,
You don't exist and might never
but the least I can do is promise you that I your father loves you unborn
Come and grow up in this world though I know it’ll be difficult for you
This world is full of good and evil
Though it’s not a good world but I admire to hold baby
Come and I will hold you like my mother never held me
I don't plan for your actual existence now
but if that happens and you find this world I live in
Don’t be diminished to let your dream fade 

To my future darling get this right

Even if I don’t know your real face 
Don’t abort my child when time comes 
My son is so precious to my than a golden bar 
My kid is like engine of my car and I can’t drive with him
He is the roof of my house, I can’t stay without it
He is my clothes I can’t walk naked
Don’t hurled my child into the pit 
I would love my child with everything
I wouldn't want anything to ever hurt you
even know I know that will never be true
but the most I can do is keep you healthy and safe
because this world is a twisted place
which is why I never planned to bring you into this basket case

I hope that society accepts you for who you are
no matter your sex, orientation, gender, 
because you are worth so much more 
you are the only you that exists
you are more than what society tells you
you are the only one in charge of your truth
don't let society tell you are you are merely handsome or pretty
because these traits fade and are petty
it just matters how good your soul is

My future child listens to this 
I will wish you to be a poet like your dad Masoni
I will wish you speak Good English like me
I will wish you make many friends like I do
I will like you to be polite like me but stand by your principles, son 


Copyright © MASONI ALEX | Year Posted 2017

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Lunch Time

Sparks leap tall buildings
and butterflies drool.
Nuns speak in cartwheels
Puritans jig like fools.

Heady verbosity
when hopeless romantic
meets existential basket-case.

Copyright © Nancy Jones | Year Posted 2011

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sit down baby

I get crazy pacen the floor
waiten for you to walk through the door
From God knows where
talk to me baby-give it to me straight
My thoughts are emotionally impaired
I overheard you tell a friend
just the other day
you had figured out an easy way
To tell me you were through
sit down baby-give it to me straight
tell me its just not true
I'm not sure what its all about
Seems to me you have it all figured out
But i would'nt know
Cause the only thing you say to me anymore
Is good-bye 
As your walking out the door
Leaving me at
With only loneliness to face
Sit down baby-give it to me straight
I'm about to become a basket case
Sit down baby-give it to me straight
Tell me its just not true
Tell me-I'm not wastin my time
Stayin in love with you

Copyright © dennis camp | Year Posted 2013

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You can call me mad
Or call me bad,
You can even call me sad or whatever.

You can think me a nutcase,
Or a hard case,
Even a basket case or whatever.
I will only shrug my shoulders and say whatever,
No matter what the weather.

But should you err in even thinking of me as a charity case,
Well that would be a bird of a different feather,
And would call for a change in the weather.
With my best  advice for you to change tack  
And reset your course for a safer climate.

Copyright © David Smith | Year Posted 2016

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Crash Pads

Apartment dwellers often wish
They had a bit more space,
Yet there exist some studios
Few humans could embrace.

I read about these dwellings,
Some 200 feet or less;
The occupants were smiling,
Proud of their New York address.

They didn’t have much clutter;
Every object had its place.
Most used them just for sleeping – 
Not quite home, but more home base.

“The city is my living room,
So all that I possess
Fits neatly in my tiny space,”
One took time to express.

To each his own, I always say,
But there’d be not a trace
Of normalcy inside of me –
I’d be a basket case

If I were forced to live there
Or just visit once too often;
I’ll settle for such real estate
When I am in my coffin!

Copyright © ilene bauer | Year Posted 2012

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Victim Or Victor

I wrote these five rules which grew out of some uncomfortable ‘life experiences’.  Because of these rules, I am not a victim.

Rule 1.  I will not bow to the mindset that feeds me the idea that I am a victim.  My perception must be that of a victor, not a victim.  The God in me
Disallows defeatism and victimization.

Rule 2.  Although I realize that I cannot go through life unscratched, unhurt, and free of disappointments, I will not allow myself to develop a self defeating ‘me complex’.

Rule 3.  If I discover that I am in someone's ‘line of fire’, I will simply distance myself.  I will not develop a paranoia that tells me that I am constantly the subject of someone’s target.

Rule 4.  The ‘poor me, they did it to me again’ attitude will not get me anywhere.  This type of attitude will not achieve anything except a basket case on the strap heaps of defeat.

Rule 5.  If I take the proper Biblical steps and keep Christ at the center of my life, it follows that I will not have a ‘victim mentality’.

(Originally, entitled The Victim Rules, written in1993) 09142016PS Contest, Victim Or Victor, Nayda Negron

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2016

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Some say, in youth,
Youth can not win for losing.
And then there is the truth of a comrade
Righted by his own will and a use of him,
And he is his best back-slapping memory of you.
A projected backtalk slap across the face
Of some unknown authority that missed out in its race
A lover foiled in the folly of love, a basket case.
He is youth’s idyllic haste 
A lover leading into a chase,
The tone of its full throttle collision
Of stars, cars, evening rains, 
Lovers switching lanes, 
In the haste and charm
Of truth’s double-edged sword,
Filled with its own conceit and harm.

For, she is its mirror of you,
The diadem of perfection
In the raging tempest,
Of its imperfection of you.
And he is its wildfire, 
the comrade upon all shores,
Pulling her up
From the wasteland of closed doors,
The imperatitude of his ballistic message, 
Colliding full throttle in love for her love,
And its idyllic score.
Who wins in this lover’s game?
Not one knows, for in it, 
She and I are One, the same.
The socket punch to the shoulder,
The laughter beneath its iron fortress of blanket
and boulder,
The fireworks display, 
The enraged lover bound in its cage
A lover’s line scribbled across its page,
Our hearts unbound and free,
In union in the count of days,
The uncaged bird singing free
OF a heaven and its rays, 
Of only what comrades can see
When merit calls us to lead.  

Copyright © Ashley Mckennon | Year Posted 2010

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I wish...

I wish I had a guy to tell me I was beautiful

Just, for once, in my life I’d like to feel loved by someone

I wish I had that special someone who never got bored talking

To me, and missed me when I left their side, even for a minute

I wish I had a boyfriend, it’s just that simple. The only problem is 

No one would want an ugly basket case like me. <3

Copyright © Kristen Wallen | Year Posted 2010

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I feel the rage burning from your eyes
As you strike me with your kitchen tool
It's that devil in you I despise
Your vicious tirade smacks me most cruel
Wishes won't expunge your gruff disguise
Even as we square off to duel

Why can't you just love me without fear?
I never asked to enter this place
You've built a vessel that you can't steer
Which hobbles along with such disgrace
You constantly decimate that pier
Raving madly like a basket case

Words filled with venom stun my fresh ear
Claiming how much I've stolen from you
I just wish to fly away from here
To tickle that mighty sky of blue
You spread my bearing like a pap smear
Before jostling my brain all askew

Where did your nurturing instincts go?
I cower beneath my bed again
As I beg my ambition to grow
My heart quivers faster than a wren
While my resolve turns into jell-o
Your cursing ire masks a bleak omen

I'll take all the blame without any shame
So you can find your calm as before
The one thing we share is a surname
Malice proves a disease without cure
Until I'm free I'll be taking aim
This creative mind shall be savior

Copyright © John Weber | Year Posted 2008

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I came face to face with a basket case
and yet stayed in place despite wanting to step back a pace.
His eyes glowed with a blue as cold as ice
and i did not move for fear of the price.
I stood my ground not making a sound
 as he did the same not looking around only staring me down.
So i spoke,comming to a choke
and as silence was broke his lips mocked mine as to joke.
No more i stated as i assesed and contemplaited,
nor did he as he patiently waited.
Deciding this was a test,one to be graded,
i set to do my best or leave more jaded.

      (so i spoke yet again to my odd but familiar friend)
 I don't know what your problem might be
as you stand there and stare.
 Trying to look so frightening,
i hope you're aware that i am not scared.
      (His lips yet again repeated the god awful sin)

He mocked sankronizingly every word i had said.
I shouted,don't patronize me and don't try to get in my head!
Yet once again,he mouthed what i had sang.
I sprang with a blow that landed in a bang.
I began to weep at what i discovered through my tears,
for the blood of my knuckles covered a broken mirror.

Copyright © Jason Melton | Year Posted 2009

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Diary of Avelyn

Welcome…welcome again dear sweet diary entry
Am I really welcome…
I feel outlandish, a lonely outcast characterized as a basket case; am I insignificant
Insignificant enough to not belong on earth 
Or is my home an endless abyss mixed with confused light and darkness
I could always use a second opinion but I doubt anyone would give one
Can you offer me a reason to live, a reason not to run away
Can you suggest a reason for me to believe in a contradictory religion once again
Because I’m giving up, giving up
Not because it’s an easy way out but because I’ll never win
My story, my dull-pointed story filled with melancholy content
I despise every essence of it; the ending remains the same with each passing year
Me, the lonely awkward Goth girl in the perfect shadow situation of Taryn
Taryn, the person I’m dramatically wishing I could be
She’s living lavishly, swimming in popularity and attention
From the results of her gorgeous appearance
And here I am, stuck at the bottom of a growing barrel
Along with my only friends, best friends, soul sisters: Jade and Kyrie
Along with the guy of my dreams: Dante but I don’t even think he knows I’m alive
I’m like a crumbling ghost in his presence
Though I spend every second wishing I could tell him every single thought
I had about him and I but no matter how hard I try…in the end, I just can’t do it
So now I’m converting this entry into a simple, longing melody
a song, silent and sweet, of my own or maybe this could be my final eulogy
This is just another repeat of previous episodes of the chronicles of me
Countless years of voicing my complaints lyrically, expressionlessly
My personal mini-tragedies, the abstract changes in my life were absolutely minor
But I wanted nothing to change and for myself to be happy
Yet I just keep looking myself in the eyes with a false smile praying everything will be alright
I wish I was stronger, bolder, braver, more than I am today
I’m hiding behind a self-constructed ten foot brick fence
I’ve meant to tear it down so I could break free
But what’s the point, I find I’m too scared to come out of the background
Oh, why…why do I…why do I have to be…why do I have to be me…
I question my daily sanity; I fail so terribly, miserably at everything, anything
I’m a coward in my own right, a spineless lot, a frightened jellyfish
Yet the mirror still finds a way to adore me, welcoming my personal beauty with open arms
And my favorite band still plays concerts in my ears, my head
Dead by April…April 16th (sigh)  
Another week away, another week away and I will be seventeen finally
Though I feel like I’m 93 because, because, because
Jade is on the verge of suicide, Kyrie has been diagnosed with cancer
And I…I…I consume a mountain of pills to keep the insanity and rising blood pressure down
Since this dreaded high school life is quickly aging me
Since this terrible high school life is completely turmoil filled
Since this horrid high school life is succeeding in killing me
…Dante my love
…Dante my black night, dark night, secret thrill, secret fear
…send help please; please, please save me
-	Avelyn

Copyright © Crow thepoet | Year Posted 2016

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Life and Death

Fragile weak and feeble
Body aching with pain from head to toe
Barely remembering my name half the time
Never knowing when it’s my time to “go”

Unable to fully care for myself
The simplest tasks seem so far out of reach
Feeding, grooming and bathing on my own
Appear to have become obsolete

Hitting my golden retirement years
Many plans and much traveling to do
Working a life-time in the business world
Hopes and dreams I now have time to pursue

My family is finally complete now 
My oldest still attending high-school
Financially stable and secure at last
Providing my children with independent tools

Struggling feverishly on a daily basis
Just trying to make ends meet
Beginning a new career and family
Never having a moment to take a seat

Finished with college and searching
For a soul mate until the end of time
That one special person in the universe
As we’re well within our prime

Immature and co-dependent
Still holding on tightly to mom and dad
Caring about nothing than friends and partying
And how many things you can actually do bad

Hitting puberty and awkward
An emotional basket case at best
Making your new friends in Jr. High
Hoping that time will fill in the rest

Sweet innocent and perky 
Bursting with unbelievable energy galore
Running ramped through your childhood
Never realizing there would be so much more

A beautiful child is born today
Perfect complexion body and face
One happy perfect baby
The entire world at your fingertips to embrace

Unable to care alone for itself
Very tiny fragile and weak
Tasks as feeding and bathing
Are tasks that are to become so bleak

Barely remembering its name half the time
Its body aching from head to toe
So you see birth and death are quite similar
Strolling through life’s many difficult plateaus 

Copyright © Stacy Stiles | Year Posted 2007

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Give Your Contest Goose Eggs To Someone Else

Give Your Contest Goose Eggs To Someone Else

Connie collects goose eggs from contest
Far honest than the geese lays the nest
The basket case now full
Lipped with geese's bull
It's time to be a contest orphan blessed

connie pachecho


Note-I admire Viv Wigley. 35 placements in his recent poetry contest.

That's commendable.

It's a *standard contest,* not the *Olympics.*

I'm sure he gave lower placements and deductions for *mistakes.*

This is mirth.

It gives a shine to all the contestants  and a chance that their 

poems be read, especially those on the bottom tier. 

It follows the PS premise of promoting a poet's growth.

What's wrath are those contest sponsors that treat *standard

poetry contests* as the *Olympics* ... those few that come

riding up on their broom, black top hats and all, nose a twitching

and wiping those poet's entries from the face of the Earth for

some technicality (oh my!) or for not appealing to the sponsor's

muse (oh my!), which is the antithesis of promoting growth.

To the Viv Wigley's, I duly applaud.

Copyright © connie pachecho | Year Posted 2017

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i see myself in you and its kinda strange 
coz thats the only time i love myself when im in dire straits
ya see i have this diesease sometimes i lie awake
and wonder why im a piece of shit with all of my mistakes 
but one day i'll change it i'll make it and flip this 
until that day im making a difference making 
a conscious decision to take what im given
no slave to the way that im liven
and these are more than words this is my testimony 
most if it i wrote for you so when im gone ya never lonely
they say only god can judge me but who is he 
i feel at times that by design for real the only god is me
but im a basket case who cant escape the darkest place 
inside my mind you'll find my heart replaced incased in armour plates
half my traits are like a dog just looking for a car to chase 
barking mad starven carven scars upon my arms and face
and this is hardly fake but something that i can't erase 
my darkest days my casket waits to take me to a calmer state

Copyright © Richard Dare | Year Posted 2017

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Basket Case

Oh battered skull,
with what power
do you withstand explosion
from the pain
                        I feel within?
Like the grinding
     of one's bones
         as your chest
      is so slowly crushed.

Blackness overcomes
as eyes burn with liquid
close to the nightmarish reality.
Leaving the brain to convulse
in its own hellish scenes.
Icy, clawed fingers
dig into the brain
and it heaves within it's fluid.
This organ.
entombed in it's crypt since birth
now wishes freedom
and screams a silent scream
as darkened bile scolds my innards.

Copyright © Mark Matthews | Year Posted 2008

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The Executioner As Scrambled Humorist

within the under belly of
this hob bull ling Leviathan beast
induced roaring hungry soundcloud issued
within abdominal folds
finding they in creased

never diminishing, matter
whether I turn north, south, west or east
this adult desired,
soon after he envisioned
buttered crispy dish eyed fancily feast
culinary cut throat Michelin meisters
(pit a less lee) pitted
against Pillsbury doughboy greased
imaginatively gobbling hectare
thousand island inlaid
juiced kickstarting least

unable to pay thee Monsieur's consigliere –
damn, hard cold cash just shy by a nickle
aye first taken got taken hostage
as a wreck loose poet,
the anti write cadre
strip searched
every stitch of clothes I wore,
then subjected me to an aye tip pickle
pun hush ment,

where this deplorable basket case
stood aghast as hounds from hell
got loosed by thee Don Rickle
lathered canine chops
slapped by foamy salivating tongues
poised to ham er and

make mince meat out this pop sickle
but...lo and behold, as vicious
snooping doggy dogs
approached within a hair breadth
minecrafted fingers fluttered
in the air asper ready to tickle

whereat the snarling killers (bon jove)
rolled with faux pas in the air
kicking, laughing (or a similar
fox simile thereof),
inciting Major Domo tuff flair
his nostrils (like...well
an amazing dragon)

with blood red eyes didst glare
while fur sprouted over his bare skin
honor ably dispelling every last hair
which bizarre circumstance, an opportunity
to escape from this thieving Magpie lair

approved by the ghost of Rossini,
who suddenly prestidigitatiously
magically brought to my defense William Tell
(in the guise oven
instant activating App) pull lick caisson
thus juiced by a whisker avoiding a scare.

Perhaps the realm where dormant ideas germinate
will coalesce into sturdy tomes even if posthumously late
recognition gets affianced with a memorialized slate
where no body will lie,
cuz this mortal will get his ashes sprinkled
intermixed with wildlife,

who will unknowingly consecrate and sanctify
rack and pinion traction, 
where dost dust will fertile lies
to become reincarnated
via blessings sans creatures who defecate or urinate.

Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2017

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from a word miner non-trumpeting
Beatle browed quarry man.

One emailing digital commoner bemoans assiduous, 
zealously yearning xing worthy values undergirding 
the storied renown quintessential peaceable operation 
nations marvel lately kindling justice,
institutionalizing hope, gentility, freedom, equality. 

Dummkopf Donald Count Drake
Hula iz destroying cradle, 
where forefathers/mothers begot
America. He shows no demonstrable diplomacy 
DURST donning duplicitous damning dingbat drive.


I call out President Trump blitzing, donning, 
and flagrantly hoisting his arrested development 
proof positive he lacks the acuity,
diplomacy, and generosity to invite kosher 
or Goyim mandates.

As an anonymously, devilishly, 
grouchy voluntary member
(as well a deplorable basket case)
of the one man literary duh vice squad keeping
a mostly straight and true reputation for Hilary Clinton
(versus his claim of her baseless crookedness,

she evinces qualities immediately evident 
asper an old gnarled hickory stick), I will 
stick tommy figurative guns in an
attempt to staunch the figurative bloodletting heaped
upon admirable Democratic constituents.

Concomitant with this near impossible mission
will be my unbiased opinion, that our FAKE
commander in chief aspires to abrogate, 
denominate, and generate demonstrable gimcrackery, 

invidious kleptocracy, and incorporate
questionable statecraft.
Analogous to an old chestnut tree apothegm
(well rooted to create self serving, 
vassal hating (viz vacillating), 
retreating, and re: tweeting.

Copyright © MATTHEW harris | Year Posted 2017

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I flogged myself to death
More harsh or worse
Than street stepped on Crystal Meth
An unsightly unholy mess
With a furrowed blank face
No resemblance to the human race
A basket case
You would cross a pot holed street to avoid
For fear eye contact would engage 
The hollow of no tomorrow 
Shell's burrow inside
Because they walk dead
Wake dead
Sleep is their only grace
Everything else is broken 
And nothing can them back together again 
Not even friend nor family
Nor self
For some poor soul's 
Death is the last semblance of Health
The lost will only ever know
But not in this life 

Copyright © Christopher Flaherty | Year Posted 2018