Best Compulsions Poems
Malevolent imploded uncontrollably,
twisting wildly maniacal posies
amid diabolically toasted brainstem,
angst uncompromisingly yanked tresses
purging stinging speech patterned rhymes
amuck iniquitous poetic verses hung
upside down to tormentingly dry,
facing other inimically knotted borders of
antagonistic galleries in deranged snapshots
razing warped poetical tapestries,
tripping on tunes of whiskey rushes' savoy truffles
and greenish tangerines whilst Led Zeppelin's
Sick Again danced upon reflective ceiling tiles,
time written sideways 'round alleged autonomy
hidden furthermost immune masked mirror images,
debauching Greek braille calligraphy's vindication
on walls of graffito scripted physicality
calling out 'tween hysterical compulsions,
naught one heeded the sounds of synapses
about ill-fated half moon's arresting arc,
synthetic doomsday's clocks aptly chimed
quarter to analytical cuckoo's nest repudiation,
still awaiting on serendipity to surrender
furthermost rabbit hole's curiouser rants,
relinquishing unwell-languaged compilations' sabotage - -
circumventing rhythmically subversive escaped detonation
Categories:
compulsions, allegory, hyperbole, imagery, imagination,
Form:
Imagism
Impulsive or compulsive
Either way it's not conducive
Living with this disorder
Can't be good for my liver
Obsessions, when do they stop?
Compulsions, when do I stop?
Let me illustrate and reiterate
My demons make me infuriated
To the point, man, I really want to escape this
Live everyday like your last?
These hours go by fast
Trying to obliterate every ounce of the past
Always with the imagery and self coping insanity
That broke me and continues to break me.
Another day, no not another day
I just got out, please let me stay away.
Categories:
compulsions, anger, angst, anxiety, confusion,
Form:
Rhyme
Sin
Oh, my ...
Desire, divine
What I would give
To nibble your saucy bits
You are a wine-taster's banquet
Each exquisite inch of your integument
Hides a sweet savor all its very delectable own
Poured to pique the primal compulsions
And treat the tongue, its tang
What a journey it could be
Inch-to-sublime-inch
A fiery feast
Of you ...
Skin.
* FIRST PLACE in the "Contest 425 Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor. *
Categories:
compulsions, appreciation, body, sensual, sexy,
Form:
Free verse
As I stand before this old, dilapidated house,
A structure fast decaying and about to crumble,
With its walls painted grey and white,
And the plaster bearing cracks and marks,
Memories leap out,
From the moss-grown crevices of my mind,
Like snakes uncoiling, rather like bees swarming,
Fragmented, scented, and sour!
I remember my old maternal uncle,
Who had turned a widower at forty-one,
The presiding deity of a joint family of sixteen.
Most of the time he sprawled in the armchair,
In the enclosed patio of this big house.
In the living room was an old grandfather clock
Ticking away like the faint heartbeat
Of that decadent house with crumbling plaster
He had seen heydays with many ceremonies of great fanfare,
When the house used to board all kith and kin,
And the granary was full of paddy and tons of black gold
But as time slowly weakened his torso
The house too lost its onetime splendor.
His children got scattered far and wide.
They went to hoard fortunes abroad.
But grand uncle refused to move away.
One day he left the house orphaning it for ever.
Now the house is sadly left to total decay.
Its life gone, its soul frozen,
A fragment of an old memory.
Though once I thought I had escaped,
The compulsions of the past
Now I discern, I am still pinioned by it!
As I stand before this house, my ears perk up,
For the lovely sounds this house once produced
And pine for the love
That once so luxuriously bloomed around!
Categories:
compulsions, destiny, house, missing,
Form:
Free verse
Retro thrusters, smokey hot,
Thunder in the dim of night.
Sprouting things all green and broke,
Mutant brains are taking flight.
Mole like beasts with huge blind eyes
Push and pour from glowing holes.
Corpses scream with undead cries.
Gelatinous blobs expand with souls.
Bodies flail in polka-dot bikinis
While death rays rip through flesh and bone.
Heady cyborgs sip oily martinis
With metallic olives that chirp and groan.
Curious apparitions haunt vampiric covens
Of werewolves and werecats without revulsions.
Scientists (most mad) create life in lab ovens
In the midst of their monstrous id compulsions.
But the worst and most horrific to face
Are those poetry spouting people beaters,
Cannibalistic abominations from outer space:
The shunned and reviled Purple People Eaters.
Categories:
compulsions, halloween, horror, humor, imagery,
Form:
Quatrain
There I’ve said it out loud
Having it does not make me proud
I get obsessed with certain things
Like writing poetry or buying rings
I change my compulsions now and then
Sometimes it just happens on a whim
I might want to go to yard sales every week
To buy old things that I will want to keep
Or go shopping for lovely new clothes
My closet(s) are completed filled with those
It was a man named Dennis for a while
Now he is just cramping my style
My hair is growing out right now
When it gets longer, I will cut it any how
Shoes are one thing I think I will want next
Cause it has been a while since my last fix
OCD has taken control, don’t you see?
It makes me crazy, but it makes me…me!
Categories:
compulsions, funny, health, me,
Form:
Couplet
It started with a single thread,
something, someone once had said
something, for which I still felt dread
something, that I'd long thought dead
This thing, that would not leave my mind,
this thing, so mirthless and unkind
a mote in ancient history's eye,
a speck of dust to make gods cry
I stitched the horrid thing together
with fingers flying fast as feathers,
on fear and pain and shame and guilt
and soon, I'd made this patchwork quilt
It covered me from head to foot
a second skin; this horrid suit
and though it was the perfect size,
't was truly just a poor disguise
It stunk of hatred and revulsion,
self doubt and many more compulsions,
the ghastly scent drew clouds of flies
that follow close, when something dies
Rows of stitches that could be zippers
and dark red eyes just like the Ripper's,
a protruding pair of rusty bolts
to charge me with a million volts
A hideous and hulking brute,
all this work had now borne fruit
so now, 't was time to seek my mate
for surely, I deserve this fate
Legs now stiffened as if poles,
I lumbered like a long dead soul
until a crowd began to form,
their horror whipping to a storm
Armed with verbal pitchforks true,
the deepest hatred did they spew
and banished me with utmost haste
to a land of ice; this frozen waste
Where I now wait for one to follow,
this monster with a heart so hollow
to free me, or to end my pain,
just so, I may begin again
Categories:
compulsions, freedom, heartbreak, imagery,
Form:
Rhyme
the list that was a fist
a) it is possible
b) it is inevitable
chained to a million pleasures
an astonishing compendium of compulsions
honed bright with a fool's ardor
the kind you'd wish for in a movie script
undulating at the tar pits of amor
the land rich with autographs
bruised and humiliated reciting the alphabet
backwards on the curb with Officer *****
a limited perspective but not without its ironies
blazing trails to metabolic equilibrium
using every crutch and cane there is
to seek out and embrace ignorance
in a fanciful play of medieval shadows
colliding with the grace of mosh pit elbows
and that pretty much nails it
the rest is a problem of amplification
if looking can blind you I'm blind
he seems to have a button gone missing
ripe to the skies with the stink of deduction
hell was upon us and none grieved
in statistically relevant numbers
apparently they had finally reached
the bottom of the barrel
we still wage war upon feudalism
good advice for any century or cemetery
touch something holy once in a while
and mighty Thor will wing above
ah sure right uh huh you bet
needing humor the wires tried to sing
the blades of the switch bit the anode
all is broadcast everywhere right now
on all the boogie woogie coordinates
how's that for karmic indifference
some curse some utter gratitude
may the good fairy console you
and turn the illusion of warmth
up a little higher
since it hasn't yet been made a crime
to destroy your own mind
until the foundations of the world
thunder and come apart like cooked meat
but working on the problem
is better than nothing
even if you really don't know
all that you think you know
even if hideously scarred in battle
a terra cotta bust hot from the oven
smelling of sulfur and bruises
tempted by radiance and music and poetry
which could get you jailed tonight
so pretend you have wide angle vision
under a curse with an escape clause
in varying pedantic proportions
for another illegal exit
from Average and its Law
played to hI fives all around
kindling fires of rebellion
the Metaphor League saw to it
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Categories:
compulsions, how i feel,
Form:
Free verse
Cloudy cool weather:
outing still a wishful though
- chains of compulsions
Categories:
compulsions, depression, life, passion, sad,
Form:
Haiku
Insatiable thirst and hunger
A bottomless materialistic pit
Always something for nothing
Prop your feet up; you’re the ****
Narcissist lazy behavior
Spoiled childish attitude
Snowflakes; everybody’s a winner
Except for people like me and you
They want it all
Dedicated to useless social tasks
Judgmental of others
Sluggish and fat
Passion for wealth
Absence of worth
Fickleness nature
Self-esteem at its worst
No goals intended
Overwhelmed and tired
False-self dominates
Tranquility expires
Choked by emotions
Drowning in desires
Wicked ambitions
Self-indulgence on fire
Lost in luxuries
Blinded by hope
Delusions of adequacy
Tempered by dope
Literary studies
Lost thing of the past
The perception of knowledge
Builds up real fast
Enthusiasm for fame
Appeal to pointless facts
We’re creating an illusionary world
We may never get back
Chasing a fictitious image
A nightmarish dream comes true
Delusions of adequacy
Creates a facade of virtue
The traditional view
The path to acquire
Loaded with debt
Bankrupt with desire
Our culture is afflicted
Materialism grabs hold
Misguided expectations
Hedonic treadmill creates a black hole
History has tried to teach us
The pains had no effect
No lessons learned in life
The cards dealt shows a slow death
The comfort of emotions
The greediness starts to blend
Before we become aware
Here we go again
Funny, how ironic
Human nature can be
Blind drives of biology
Now a destructive quality
New desires will take place
Old compulsions will disappear
Life will be driven
By the avoidance of new fears
A new set of beliefs
A new course in life
Is really what’s needed
For autonomy in our life
Acknowledge our predicament
Self-respect matters most
Virtue and honor
Is what I hope and propose
This generation
Can change what’s been done
We're in this together
We're in this as one
Selfless
Productive
Compassionate
Clarity of mind
Sin
Greed
And gluttony
Pass away all in due time
The past tells a story
Opportunity to understand; to know
Everything that has happened in life
Was necessary for our growth
Categories:
compulsions, america, conflict, social, wisdom,
Form:
Rhyme
Each day, the inevitable draws closer
Our time is measured by the number of days and nights
How we’ve chose to live in each of those moments
Has become the summation; the totality of our lives
Many are depressed by the memory of past experiences
Or, anxious with thoughts of what’s to come
Their existence, is battling trivial emotions
Tragically, they succumb
In the end we create our own reality
Without the use of reason, it appears there’s hope
There's a desire for perpetual satisfaction
Which becomes an existential vacuous hole
Our perspective of living well has been distorted
Many have chosen wealth over a tranquil mind
We’re immersed in habitual compulsions
We’ve become slaves to the things in our life
We’re consumed with thoughts of a better tomorrow
We’ve lost the lessons provided by each day
The mirror – white hair and wrinkles
Troubled by the fact; It’s getting late
Preoccupations continue
Filled with hopes and fantastic dreams
All of life’s good intentions
Unfortunately ends so miserably
We’ve lived as if life is forever
Squander time as if acquired from an overflowing supply
We pathetically minimize our existence
The greatest gift is to live life
Categories:
compulsions, abuse, addiction, allegory, anger,
Form:
Rhyme
From Doubt-Stones to Light-Joy
Discover the Doubt-Stones of the mind
only to reveal a fearful obligation
which burdens the Joy of Light
within the spirit-body
and fills it with a density
that bogs the body
in a swamp of obsessive compulsions.
Panic ensues!
And what mental chaos erupts
from a mind intent
on a strict ordering of the Universe?
Only through once again
embracing the joy of the Light-Child
does the anxious adult
begin to transform
that dark and onerous load.
Categories:
compulsions, anxiety, metaphor, spiritual, universe,
Form:
Free verse
Nothing was ever going to displace my obsession for painting in my mind.
A joyfulness I had never experienced before entered my soul realm when
I finished my first giant canvas, a mere week after my 9-year-old granddaughter
who was obviously a lot more knowledgeable than I about me, had goaded me
into “trying to paint”.
I finished 250 canvases in the first two years, but alas, when you are me, and
things get boring at new jobs within twenty minutes, how could even this compel
me at the rapidly moving pace my mind is craving?
When do you think you will tire of those word games? My husband dares to whisper. I
glare at him from my Lazy-Girl, two dangerously hot I-pads on my lap. I am in the throes
of playing Word Chums and Words with Friends, and I know I will be here, in this stupor,
not in the least bit satisfied for at least two more hours.
I stumbled upon Poetry Soup’s website ten months ago when I was bored. I discovered
All Poetry.com three weeks ago. I have almost three hundred followers if you count both
sites, and real poets, not imaginary ones, not cyber-poets, but real poets who know how to
write poetry are being more than a bit nice to me on both sites.
Since I hate math and biology, and loathe geometry, they will not be my next compulsions.
Whatever is, will have my full attention, much like my demanding husband, who is pouting
like a 4-year-old tonight has had for many, many years. I look up from my I-pads to glare at
He-Who-Used-To-Be-My-Everything-But-Is-Slowing-Me-Down-Taking-Me-Away-From-My-
Obsessions. How dareth he maketh noise? Welcome to the weird, un-wonderful world
of the Obsessive Compulsive Personality.
Categories:
compulsions, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Narrative
What a wonder! Nothing was written! Absolutely free!
Bee, sea, tree - I can create whatever I want to see.
Receptively blank as the almighty designed it well,
It can in each sketch His miraculous mysteries spell...!
Tabula rasa, John Locke calls it - no readymade concepts,
Like nectar in a flower, facts fill in all its contents;
The environment like my mother nurses my actions,
My caring and rearing enable all my attractions...!
I am like a natural child, devoid of compulsions,
My growing intelligence expulses all convulsions;
The Blank Slate - nature's hardware - analyzes all awareness,
My contemplations - software - set them rightly in fairness...!!!
06 February 2023
Categories:
compulsions, humanity, philosophy,
Form:
Rhyme
Old habits die hard,
I guess at the end of the day,
I'll never truly understand why,
why he is this way.
The psychology behind it,
my theories are pretty sound,
but the actual act of what he does,
when he thinks no one is around.
His pleasure is in the pain,
a way to numb out the world,
when the harshness of his reality,
starts to crumble all around.
I often look for triggers,
little things that seem to set him off,
trying to pin point actually when,
he decides it's time to cut.
You'd see a body riddled with scars,
each one a story he could tell,
but I only see my brother,
and I see how I have failed.
Ignorance is bliss,
the way I've always been,
till it's right on my door step,
now I can actually see.
All I see is broken,
a man never taught to grow up,
a child caught in time,
his mindset so corrupt.
I know I can't fix him,
I wish I truly could,
years of being alone,
because no one understood.
If I could only look through his eye's,
to see the world as he,
so trapped he is by his compulsions,
only wanting to be free.
Contest Name: any poem during the month of JUNE or JULY
Sponsor: Poet ~ Destroyer
Equal 1st place
M.Mahauariki © 2012
Categories:
compulsions, confusion, dedication, depression, life,
Form:
Verse