Best Cramped Poems
Insanity or Death
Life begins with insanity~~
~Your soul is kicking and screaming,
Ready to exit with the touch of human hands.
Insanity rides on a gallant stallion ready to pant.
Hides in the mind, mourning its captive soul.
Ready to breach over holding its breath.
Projecting in and out without a guide.
Bites away at the feast, enchants for freedom.
From the lips……….....
Taking length against a world of dilemmas,
Contrasting to a never happy end.
The epidermis cover every wall of insanity.
To live, to eat, and to suffocate it determination without air.
Dramatically hallucination against its will of no wells.
Until it realizes it can drink without water.
No further needs a slumber.
The mind-bends and unfolds to ordinary jolts,
When left to human consummation.
Insincerely bidding and cutting to die in the sleep.
Is how it pleads!
Graves where dreams have no meaning.
Caves where goodness can be redeemed.
A temple of misguided fortune.
All respect lost to this infection,
The patients’ weight distracted from an antidote.
The madness begins too finds admiration-
That makes catastrophe go on and on.
The psychosis of the mind and mockeries of them will never be gone
Dictating in everything wrong,
Layers of cramped bricks, level the isolation.
Death drags its feet off into this infinite helix world.
A source of light breeding out of darkness.
"Sanity is no friend of mine!"
Insanity is earth herself,
Where there is life, there is a reason,
Where there is reason, there is madness,
Where there is madness, there you are,
Feeling nothing………………...
Lost in darkness................
~Your soul is kicking and screaming
Life ends with death~~
(first I feared life, now I fear death)
The raptor and the peacock hence,
Sit pensive on a rambling fence.
The first, inclined to be the host,
Jumped down to claim the nearest post.
The pea averse to snubs or quailing
Moves closer on the weathered railing.
Both immersed in trailing thoughts
Mused on nigh, and what was naught.
The Pea fans its tail in public splendor
Cramped raptor prefers an opposing gender.
He clasps a plume of gleaming thread
To implant it on his own stark head.
On and on, a grueling day
Feathers plucked; cold work at play.
Peafowl’s once featured feathered shafts
Now forlornly bare and subject to draft.
The predacious bird, a cocky thief
Snidely at par, to a native chief.
Clips of sun reveal a shadowy bane
The unlikely pair cast as one and the same
Goodnight my dear boy and what's that you say?
You want me to chase the bad monsters away?
Well, I'll tell you a tale that may just be true
And if it's made up, it is done just for you...
I know you're afraid of the dark and the gloom
When you lie wide awake all alone in your room
'Scardy cats prowl and their tattle-tales pester
Goose bumps may prickle and worry-warts fester
Shadow-ghosts creep up and crawl to your cover
You roll on your side but then you discover
The thump in your pillowcase whispers too loud
So here's what I've done and I know you'll be proud...
I've met with the monster man under your bed
He thinks you will find he is not much to dread
He just needs a friend and to know that you care
So if you reach down he'll shake hands from his lair
I've found where that boogie man hides in the wall
He's cramped and alone and he waits for your call
He believes you're convinced he is ugly and mean
And hold him to blame when you have a bad dream
Your monster man's fierce and has razor-sharp teeth
But he understands things that may stir underneath
Your boogie man knows what you don't want to find
And what's around corners and hidden behind...
They'd like to come out and tell you a story
(Perhaps something scary but nothing too gory)
Sit up and talk with them late into night
Come morning they'll gladly slip back out of sight
But at night they'll grow strong to protect like they should
To face down your fear and show evil what's good
Stand watch while you sleep, they will stay by their mark
If you wake you might catch their eyes glow in the dark...
It's then as you grow you may find you walk bolder
With two fearsome friends striding close by your shoulders
They'll go anyplace as a general rule
(But maybe you'd better not bring them to school)
If witches and dragons can streak through the sky
Then monsters and boogie men surely must fly!
At the edge of your sleep (when you just start to doze)
Whisper the password and wiggle your toes...
And they'll sweep you away to soar like a dove
Over the rooftops to heavens above!
Up into orbit to your own private place
High on a mountaintop floating in space
Sit back and relax with a satisfied grin
Laughing and singing as you watch the earth spin
Hum along while your boogie man growls a brave tune
Count stars while your monster man howls at the moon
Metaphors and similes exude when scripting poetic verse.
Across pale parchment, the poet's pen continues to traverse.
Ink courses like life blood, rushing through his eddied veins
as he ignores cramped fingers while writing echoing refrains.
Each stanza arranged by sequence in the creation of a story.
Sometimes his mysterious muse dances wildly with allegory.
He reins her in when he is focused but totally oblivious of time.
With vivid imagination, he sits penning in consummate rhyme.
Thoughts drift like flurries of snowflakes; his passion ignites
as each completed verse lifts his wizardry to greater heights.
In epic form he wanders within a level of verbose amplitude,
composing lyrical sonnets when creating a romantic interlude.
He indites with skill and talent of an accomplished musician,
striving to compose a magnum opus, a worthy composition.
If by chance his poetry is interpreted with eyes of admiration
he'll credit his gypsy muse for offering amorous inspiration.
It is not fair, it is not just,
That you have things that I don't!
Do I suffer with envy and jealousy,
Coiling like a noose in my chest?
Or do I strive to improve myself?
Or do I accept you as you are,
Or love me for who I am?
Should I detest our differing destinies,
Or must I strive to enhance my stance?
Should I seek your praise or scorn,
Or must I be happy and calm?
I think I am the master of my fate,
Loving myself for who I am...?
But who am I, but a reflection of you,
A mirror of your virtues and flaws?
Admire or abhor?
Accept you, as you are,
Or love myself for who I am?
Wait—what makes you luckier?
When life's a gamble of cards and chance?
Should I grieve your destiny or mine,
Or must I strive to move my groove?
You are the image of my soul,
Reflecting light and dark.
Should I admire your charm or… loathe your faults,
Or must I cherish you as you are?
I should be the master of my fate,
Loving myself for who I am.
Should I seek your praise or scorn,
Or must I be happy and calm?
Your world stretches like a sun-drenched meadow,
While mine feels like a cramped, dimly lit room.
While I grasp a mere crumb,
Scales teetering, balance trembling.
Do I wallow in spite and self-pity?
Do I envy you, my perceived foe?
Blame the hand I'm dealt,
Crave your approval, loathe your scorn?
You have the sun, I have the moon,
This disparity throws me into a state of…
Despair threatening to swallow me whole,
Pulling me into its icy depths.
Envy you as a formidable adversary?
Chase your allure of glory or scandalous shame,
Curse your lot or perhaps my name,
Crave your radiant smile or icy chill frown?
What makes you luckier than me?
Life's a gamble of destiny and decree,
Drown in green-eyed sorrow?
I Should, I SHould, I SHOULD… I Must, I MUst, I MUST…
…Perhaps…
Just Do!
Navigate my inner world,
Chart my own course, set sail,
Embrace my authentic self.
Today, I choose to cherish us both for who we are.
Towards a future yet unwritten.
How high the bar that makes a poet Real!
(He walks in mists, and shadows of himself)
To be a poet, is to burn with steel
Set short time in the forge, the lesser self!
He brands his heart with fiery words, set down
And burns his mind with thinking, ‘til it glows,
He hopes, of sonnets, his will be the Crown,
And hopes that all the brilliance of light, shows!
But, oftener, he writes a humble piece,
A few words cramped into a simple form,
But somehow, in his feelings, a release!
Yes, humble-bumble often is the norm.
And that high bar, he reaches seldom, and
Leaves barefoot footprints in the fruity sand.
2/20/2019
Locked within the confines of my mind’s dark cell,
Both convict and captor, a self made hell.
Each thought a shackle, every memory a bar,
Confined by my own mind, a prisoner of psychological scars.
In this self-imposed exile, I am utterly alone,
A solitary figure locked in a world of dark, cold stone.
Forsaken by hope, abandoned by light,
I dwell in the shadows, a prisoner of everlasting night.
These lonely walls echo my silent screams,
As I fight with demons, trapped in dreadful dreams.
I reach out for redemption, but find none there,
In this self made prison, my remorseful soul lays bare.
For I am the architect of my own demise,
Sentenced to solitude, beneath storming skies.
Cramped within the confines of my own creation,
Condemned to a life of eternal damnation.
I feel a butterfly inside;
its wings are cramped within my breast.
The weight of flesh, o dull cocoon,
prohibits my free flight. At best
I only soar inside; my wings--
gossamer, light, remain untried.
I wait...I wait...until the day
the barred' cage is flung aside
and airy wings lift toward the skies.
I have felt this graceful creature
flutter faintly deep inside;
then, at times, so ardently,
I think no way will it abide!
It will be loosed! Its wish to fly
will push the bars of flesh aside.
Determined is this butterfly
to show its colors multiplied
and wing its way through azure skies.
The time is drawing near, I'm sure;
the throbbing swells within my heart.
The cumbrous cocoon, filled with life,
is bursting now, falling apart.
The butterfly is breaking free;
no more its wings will tightly furl,
but lightly spread upon the breeze
their filmy webs, gilded and pearled...
and, then, my soul will leave this world.
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, 1987
It’s been many years since I’d climbed the wooden steps to my parent’s attic. The hinges of the trap door creak and a cloud of dust rises as I push the door open. I fumble for the light switch; it takes several minutes for the dust to settle and for my eyes to become accustomed to the gloom from the single bulb.
I survey the small space, which is packed to the hilt with hidden treasures. I sit cross-legged in a cramped corner and delve one of the many boxes.
relics of childhood
packed in old cardboard boxes
I find my old bear
My mother had carefully packed away many of my old toys and keepsakes from my schooldays and high days and holidays. Oh how I laughed when I read some of the comments on my school reports and workbooks, it made for very amusing reading! I get quite emotional when I sort through photograph albums and see the faces of those who are no longer with us.
cherished memories
as I leaf through the pages
I wipe away tears
After several hours reminiscing I’ve selected a couple of items, which were once so dear to me; and then I finally close the door on the past.
Picture 3
Photostory Contest
Sponsored by Eve Roper
11-15-17
Mother would tuck into each dresser drawer,
a bar of soap, to scent the clothes..
The familiar fragrance of English Lavender would fill the air
The small bedroom, a bit cramped..a bit shabby, but comfortably familiar.
The faded chintz curtains and the cover on the four poster, was a primrose yellow...
and the wallpaper striped in blue and white.
There would be marguerite daisies in a jug on the dressing table..
Next to a framed photo of five, smiling young cousins..
all scrubbed, with shining faces, dressed for church, one Easter morning.
Over on the north wall hung a painting of Willowby Pond...
so pleasant to look at, just before falling to sleep.
Here I stand once again, having things so familiar, so much the same
I take a deep breath, recalling the sense of home, the fragrance of lavender
Like slipping into an old pair of slippers,
after spending the day wearing high heeled shoes
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I feel trapped in a shell and want to get out
It get so frustrating I want to shout
Trying to figure out what put me here in the first place
Before I leave this cramped little space
Not wanting to return to what put me here
Trying to avoid my constant fear
Of people hurting me...
Keeping me from who I want to be
I need to realize that I deserve the best
And no longer settle for anything less
I want to escape without looking back
I want to remain on a new solid track
Happy, without fear and totally free
The part of me I miss to be
How do I get rid of this shell?
Once upon a time I knew oh so well
But now I can’t seem to figure it out
Why, where, what is this all about?
Set me free for I am stuck
Praying hard for better luck
I need to escape, this overworked mind
I need to break out and need to unwind
For now all I can do is pray
That life works out in an amazing way
For now all there is to say
Is in this cramped shell, I can no longer stay
Time to focus on me
Be all I ever wished to be
While I’m finally breaking free
Do not let doubt take root within your heart.
To pain, and wrong paths, it keeps the feet bound
To where gathered dark clouds refuse to part.
Yes, hearts wrench as ones beliefs fall apart.
When, in that held dear, there is no truth found,
Will doubt grow, deepening within the heart.
If the narrow, cramped way is where we start,
And if within our souls humbled hearts pound,
Never will the dark clouds refuse to part.
For some, the tickling of ears is their art.
Their empty words furrow a hollow sound;
Sowing the seeds of doubt within the heart.
Pursue truth, as one who chases a hart.
Once captured, wrestle it, hold it to the ground.
Only then will the clouds begin to part.
My love, from you my gaze does not depart;
Vowing only to what keeps us ever bound.
Do not let doubt take root within your heart,
Lest the gathered dark clouds refuse to part.
Since a young age,
I've learned how to see
beyond the darkness -
but what has become of me?
Surrounded by blackness
and eerie silence,
gasping for air,
I can't move,
feeling lifeless and helpless.
What is happening to me -
is this paralysis of sleep
or a lucid nightmare.
Cramped for space
placed in a horizontal rectangle -
I can't feel my heart beat.
I'm afraid to close my eyes,
because then, no one will rescue me
maybe it's better if I fall asleep.
It's getting cold,
I can hear raindrops -
or is it my mother's tears.
I try to scream for her,
but the tongue is silent.
Am I hallucinating
or are they my father's hands
help me dad, help me...
Simple Musing
17 October 2020
Wanted to leave this poem open to interpretation.
An hour before time, they put her through the motions.
Shoving and pulling her strings adding oil and suntan lotion.
Hot and humid still shining in candid spirit she professes
in music, a monotone but in finesse, a tune nonetheless.
Of her welcome song intrinsic in me but to her handlers, in blase
only the mere task of steering and roping in tense power play.
Embarking though marred by obvious signs of abuse and neglect.
Her rolling in elation disguised the slippery entrance and my regret.
Drivers accommodating cramped spaces as directed, gently to fill.
Opting to maitain serenity as they in vain, placate her iron will.
Do I hear her rising blood pulses or lack of joy in welcome thereof?
No, just the sound of tumultuous creaks and human smell
of perfume, tainted sweat and punjent oil leaks let off.
Disgruntled impatience of mere sailors but of her, not a peep.
Standing tall, holding firm a class of her own as she let sweep.
Riding the waves in style directing me to the destiny I must keep.
On and on she rides tantalising the waves as they foam at the peaks.
Such insight when she lapses into a lullaby putting me to sleep.
I return to a friend who knows well to serve, to ferry me ashore.
Another blissful time with her as the sea beckons for us to explore.
She is faithful, a useful companion with its own metallic commodore.
Sailing majestically forever a classy lady, our very own Lady Samoa.
(N.B Lady Samoa is our Inter-Island Ferry)
Alone In The Dressing Room: Just Before Curtain Up
Oh Yes! My career!.. It's behind me.
And the bright lights I’d worked so hard for
Now they’ve airbrushed my face
That looks so out of place
On that poster they’ve stuck to my door.
My name is no longer top billing
It’s been pushed further down out of view
By some rich kid who blogs
From his channel of vlogs
And gets paid just to like all this too.
The curtain goes up in five minutes
But I think it should really stay down
They haven’t a clue
What real actors do
On the stage in this backwater town.
I’m the oldest guy here in this cesspit
And this dressing room’s cramped and too cold
The 'luvvies' will shout
That I’ve sadly sold out
Unlike seats for this show so I’m told.
I’m supposed to walk out there all happy
To some kids who just couldn’t care less
And keep 'doing my thing'
And get them to sing
- I’m washed out, fed up and a mess.
A Knock On The Dressing Room Door: Not Long After Curtain Down
I just wanted to say a big 'Thank You!'
The three of us had a great time
I’m not sure where to start
So I’ll speak from my heart
We loved you and your great pantomime.
My husband and I brought our ill son
And now value what laughter is worth
We saw sickness displaced
By wide smiles on his face
Despite his short time left on earth.
You brought us much joy, light and comfort
From the stage to the seats where we sat
No medicine or pills
Can cure our son's ills
But for two hours - tonight - you did that!