Details |
Crazy Poem
|
Anxiety (The Worst Noose In Town)
-- like flooding waters, creeping in
I count 30, seconds, holding my breath again
Drowning in agitation, overwhelmed by fear
I try to hide the pressure in hopes I don't pass out
My pores are soaked, from all the perspiration
I feel the pins and needles pushing in
My skin is ruined from all the peeling
At this point, I can't seem to win
Washed out by dead hope and desire
My soul is lost searching for a shore
leashing, grasping and ripping the chest wide
I count 40, seconds, once nausea can't be blocked
Everything about this moment is driving me mad,
I need to escape, however, my knees are too weak
I tremble while losing control to the emotional distress
My knuckles are pale, detached from reality,
wounds forced with further embarrassment.
Guaranteed failure surrounds my day
Numbness strikes my very essence - I can't move!
Lost in a room,
Therapy - even so I feel singled out
HAPPY VALENTINES (it can get the best of us)
---------------------------- love Linda
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
They say it's a time to slip in the mud, and begin anew.
Kick off the dust of yester ...
and put on the dress of Yes Sir! and Thank You Ma'am
She sure is a joy This baby little season
And like moths to a flame we praise her name
(we don't need a reason)
And who can blame the helpless admirers
trigger happy on their Kodaks
drunk with Marigold Merriment.
No matter your profession, everyone's a poet,
when spring comes along, like a child, showing off her dandelion face,
believing in her curious way that death has been conquered.
But reality comes in firehouse red,
with silver sickle blades that say, No can do, Little Miss Spring,
not every bird, on every branch, has a song to sing.
The fact of the matter is ... you're just another three months
(Winter? Autumn? They're simply taking an overdue lunch,
but they'll be back with the same fire The same ice)
Hate to break it to you, Sweetie, but not everything nice
is destined to remain (it's a cyclical thing ... you understand)
You can bet your slender green stem
even Little Miss Spritely has her down days,
but like teenage hysteria it's just a phase
(we can just pretend those zits are poppies
they smell fragrant enough)
And yes of course It's a time of LOVE!
Young and Fresh --- Tongue and Flesh
like good ole Elmer Fudd would say
(bweeding like wabbits)
Oh Little Miss Spring, surely you can't have everything!
Green grass and blue sky --- it's halfway sickening
the way you steal the show with your sunny splendor.
And Poor Old December ... you left him in the cold,
bragging up your warmth and innocent demeanor
(I saw what you did to the snow)
It can all be forgiven though Truly it can!
I know it might feel like I'm freezing you out
(but all the cool months are doing it)
... 'tis no excuse you saw through my ruse
I'm just killing time before the Melancholy Mob
comes back into town.
Remember how they used to hang around Stick in the Mud Lane
poking holes into your joy?
(they annoyed me too)
And what became of the pessimists, the argument-ists,
the I-don't-believe-in-all-this kinda crowd?
Are they all hibernating somewhere like Mother Grizzly?
(If you ask me they can take all advice from this soda pop
fade and fizzly)
Written March 15th, 2016
For the Spring Contest Hosted by Catie Lindsey
Poem of the Day: March 18th, 2016
Placed 8th
Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
She cocooned herself
Spinning the thread tightly
Around her troubled mind
Knowing out there
Out there were the people
Who watched her unwind
Who could not be kind
Losing ground
Every day
She fought to stay
Sane
Untouched by pain
She cocooned her mind
Her weak troubled mind
With layer after layer of silken threads
Threads of self defense
From a world
Who only loved to see her dance
And smile
And play the fool
For a while
From a world who couldn’t bear
To see the raw pain that was there
Behind the pretty face
And the bewitching eyes
Were the jagged lies
The mirrors into a soul
Incomplete...not whole
Unloved
Unwanted
She was too much trouble
Complicated
An emotional drain
They comforted the physical pain
Yet feared the mental pain
They could not understand….
"Sh…….keep it a secret"
She told herself as she spun away
"For now….
Play the game
Play everyone’s game
Give them what they want
Whatever it is
Give it to them
Maybe they will learn to love you
Maybe they will see the beauty
Hiding behind the beast
Waiting for release...
No....you know better
They have no eyes to see
So dance....dance....alone
In the quiet of the room
Where there is no one to pry
Or see you cry
Dance alone
Live alone
Breathe alone
Alone
Alone
Hate the world
Hate them all
They deserve it
Damn every single last one
Whoever walked away
Leaving you cradling your throbbing head
Afraid of their own monsters
They keep you at bay
Vulnerability not their game to play
Damn them all
For not loving you enough
For not being tough enough
Weaklings one and all
EVERY SINGLE LAST ONE
Unable to be strong
To carry you along
When you are weak
Unable to think
Unable to speak
Unable to breathe
Unable to muster the courage to live
Unable
And unloved
Finish what you've begun"…..
She spinned the threads tighter… tighter
The cocoon complete
She fell asleep
Her last thoughts
The bitter knowledge
That she would never awake
Transformed
Knowing this would be her tomb
For she was never meant to be
A butterfly…
A beautiful airy creature of the day
Loved by everyone in every way
She closed her eyes
And slipped away
Unloved....
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
I see things in my dreams
Aliens then screams
Government, terrorists, spies
Ghosts, ghouls, monsters, lies
They are coming in my sleep
I can’t scream, not a peep
Fireants in my brain
My voices make it plain
Life isn’t as it seems
I ain’t gonna lie
I got problems
Don’t deny
Should be locked up
Outta my mind
I know I’m crazy
But maybe that’s just me
Don’t judge me by the outside
See inside I’m terrified
Locked my heart threw away the key
Locked it up so they can’t see
Its breaking loose
Can’t set it free
Can’t keep it close
Can’t let it be
I try to find my sanity
But somehow that’s just not me
My brain thinks differently
I ain’t gonna lie
I got problems
Don’t deny
Should be locked up
Outta my mind
I know I’m crazy
But maybe that’s just me
Don’t judge me by the outside
See inside I’m terrified
Others see a different world
Without the fear of dreams unfurled
Broken hearts, shattered screams
My insanity becomes a reality
That only I can see
My reality is the insanity
Deep inside of me
Until I set it free
I will never see with clarity
I ain’t gonna lie
I got problems
Don’t deny
Should be locked up
Outta my mind
I know I’m crazy
But maybe that’s just me
Don’t judge me by the outside
See inside I’m terrified
I just gotta set it free
I just gotta be me
The world wants me to hide
They just gotta realize
That I am truly crazy
And really that’s just me
I am finally set free
To find my sanity
In insanity
I ain’t gonna lie
I got problems
Don’t deny
Should be locked up
Outta my mind
I know I’m crazy
And I know that’s just me
Don’t judge me by the outside
See inside I’m finally alive
Copyright © Heather Secrest | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
Sarah’s Story - Mental Illness
Sarah, the “Crazy Lady,” was a familiar sight,
roaming the streets any time of day or night.
Her foul body odor announced her presence,
as she paraded around in her filthy, smelly garments.
Walking barefoot regardless of the weather,
in her state of mind, she couldn’t do better.
Children teased and made fun of Sarah,
reciting ridiculing ditties, adding to the drama.
Behind her a lively entourage would follow,
taunting and calling her names creating a sideshow.
They howled with childish laughter,
as Sarah hurled angry profanities after.
An avid collector of all kinds of trash,
she transformed her abode into a garbage stash.
Sarah’s odd behavior made her fair game,
to unkind people who had no mercy or shame.
While many folks turned a blind eye,
young boys threw rocks and other missile,
at the roof and windows of the shack she occupied.
Behind bushes, they would scamper away to hide,
as Sarah furiously dashed outside,
brandishing a machete, cudgel, or broom,
screaming out curses, damnation, and doom.
Like a cancer, her mental illness had devoured her brain,
and before long, she was officially "certified insane."
Most agreed it was for her own benefit,
and for the good of society to be rid of this "misfit."
But even though she was locked away in an institution,
no psychiatric treatment could cure her mental condition.
When Sarah finally died, she was unloved and alone;
her passing was hardly noticed, and she was mourned by none.
Note: This piece was inspired by a true account. While we have made great strides in the study of mental illness and understanding it, unfortunately negative attitudes and beliefs toward people who have mental health conditions are still common. Thus, as a society, we still have a long way to go to improve our attitudes and to show more caring and compassion for those who suffer from various types of mental illness.
Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
Most people were born with love and concern
~ the real world is more like a nightmare ~
Listening To My Monday Blues
~
we need to turn adversity into opportunity
CHANGE
~ before the sun goes down ~
~ * * * * * * ~
Some have tattoos, others have scars
Everyone has the memories
Five years after several coordinated
terrorist acts shaken Norway on 22 July 2011
The bereaved and survivors still have horrific memories
and miss their loved ones who lost their lives
... One human
...
... The air vibrated
25.07.2016
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
Last year, her imagination went double
So she ignored her previous schedule.
She put all her dreams inside of clear jars,
Decorated with different, assorted stars.
She believed if she always kept things rounded,
She would also succeed in keeping life grounded.
So she would circle every found square
Believing it demonstrated her constant care.
Plastic, colored eggs hung from her ceiling
To keep her floor from creaking and reeling.
Pale pink and bold gold stripes on her wall
Recorded every received telephone call.
She worshiped and loved both the sun and moon,
But only from inside her living room.
She feared really being observed outside,
A place where stray cats were known to hide.
She always loved dance, but during this year
She’s been dancing to music only she can hear.
All these things bring her secure nuances near,
But make her sanity less and less clear.
September 30, 2015
Copyright © CayCay Jennings | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
Listen to poem:
Our Boogeyman
There is a boogeyman within
this home of ours, we swear he's here!
He comes and goes to mess with us
and bring about a silly fear.
It happens if we're here or not;
he seems to go from room to room
to keep us guessing why we see
phenomena that brings such gloom.
It has to do with lights, you see,
the kind you touch to turn them on;
somehow this boogeyman knows how
to toy with us, and whereupon,
we find our touch lamps brightly lit
in rooms, we enter while we're there.
But worst of all, to find them on
when we've been out, and such despair,
to wonder how that comes about??
For sure, it doesn't make much sense.
Do boogeymen have fingers that
can generate capacitance?
Sandra M. Haight
~4th Place~
Contest: Boogeyman
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Judged: 06/02/2016
True Story!
"Touch-sensitive lamps almost always use a fourth property of the human body -- its capacitance. [kuh-pas-i-tuh ns] The word "capacitance" has as its root the word "capacity" -- capacitance is the capacity an object has to hold electrons. The lamp, when standing by itself on a table, has a certain capacitance. This means that if a circuit tried to charge the lamp with electrons, it would take a certain number to "fill it." When you touch the lamp, your body adds to its capacity. It takes more electrons to fill you and the lamp, and the circuit detects that difference." http://science.howstuffworks.com
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
Me, my brother Tom and Uncle Pat were on a fishing holiday
three men in a rowing boat way out in Dublin Bay
we anchored up and cast six rods over a sunken wreck
hoping for the catch of our lives to haul onto the deck
hours passed with the floats just bobbing up and down
Tom fell asleep and Pat sat watching with a frown
a ferry passed by and the swell nearly made us capsize
as I held onto the sides Pat stood there with staring eyes
his float had gone and the rod had bent double
I woke Tom up and told him we were in trouble
Pat grabbed the rod and with all the strength he had
he struck the line which went straight down, oh man this was bad
the boat began to list quite far and water was gushing in
we started bailing out, but Pat held firm he stood there with a grin
he had a bite that was pulling hard the line shot under the keel
only one fish had the strength for this, it was a giant conger eel
Tom rummaged through the tackle and handed Pat a knife
we shouted ‘cut the line’ or this fish could take a life
but he heaved and reeled then shouted ‘get the gaff’
we saw his head and great big teeth and said ‘you’re having a laugh’
Tom grabbed an oar and whacked it’s head, the oar it broke in two
Pat’s foot was in the firing line and the eel snapped at his shoe
the eel it thrashed; we kicked and lashed the eel half out the boat
but the eel was having none of it and was going for Pat’s throat
the screams were heard by other boats who came to our rescue
the next we knew the eel was dead killed by god knows who?
a harpoon in it’s head stuck out and we were showered in blood
Pat saw blood gushing from his foot, then fell with a sickening thud
we climbed aboard the other boat, the eel it was their prize
we lost our boat and rods, half a shoe plus two toes, It’s the truth, I tell no lies….
© 21/2/2014
For Caleb's Contest...Now it has been judged I can say it is all true....
Copyright © David Williams | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
Tell me that this fear is just paranoia in my mind,
we're not straining, we're not struggling,
we're not sinking, we're just fine.
I'm not perfect my dearest, but damn have I tried,
and I'll try harder but I know I'll have the same results every time.
Do you want me all the ways that I am?
With all the struggles and the tears and the clinging to your hand.
I fear your getting further and Im left on the shore to stand,
watching you in the distance with a bullet in my hand.
Tell me all this worry, its just clutter in my mind,
tell me not to worry that we're doing just fine.
Cause Im scared to run you off and I feel Im falling deep.
And Im so frightened of these thoughts that its getting hard to sleep.
All I know is that the heart wants what it desires,
because of you the match inside has turned into a fire.
And I feel the broken glass thats sticking from my skin,
Wondering if you'll remove the pain or push it back in.
My hearts frantic wondering if you feel the same,
pleading and begging for more than just a saying,
but to feel and to see that im not alone,
with being in this love thats overwhelming.
Once I told you that we didnt have a spark,
but you were lighting up and I was sitting in the dark.
And this fire, this blaze its wrapped in desire.
Im terrified to lose you, I think I might die or,
maybe disappear from all the pieces falling out,
im going crazy but when i open my mouth, nothing comes out,
and I cant explain to you why I just need to hold you close,
why every time you leave Im scared to let you go,
why these tears are building up behind my eyes,
all I know is that the heart wants what it desires
and it desires to be your wife.
So tell me in my panic, that your words are true,
tell my my dearest what I mean to you,
tell me that this paranoia is all within my mind
we're not struggling, we're not sinking tell me we're just fine
Copyright © Jay Loveless | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
You, who are so perfect in my eyes, so beautiful- adorable, and I, so flawed, ugly, damaged and crawling with defects; why do you enjoy my company?
You, who are so sleek and slender, humming with a quiet intellect and a serenity about you, and I, so grossly overweight and pretentiously boastful and nervous; how can you abide my company?
You, who are a paragon of patience, so understanding and self-assured, and I, so insanely impulsive, so myopic and brimming with self-doubt; how do you stand my company?
You, who are so sweet, so considerably kind, so thoughtful and generous, and I, so bitter, so selfish, so self-absorbed; why do you choose my company?
You, who are so self-composed, full of self-control, so sound and stable, and I, so very neurotic, so completely compulsive and verily volatile; how can you tolerate my company?
You, who are so diligent, so driven and ambitious, so achieving, and I, so lackadaisically lazy, so uninspired, so complacent; why do you settle for my company?
You, who are ethical, so moral, so very virtuous, and I, so corrupt, so unprincipled, so wholly wicked; how can you endure my company?
You, who are so normal, so well-adjusted, so conventional, and I, so maniacal, so unbalanced and irrational; why do you condone my company?
You, who are bubbling with charm, who loves unconditionally and is absolutely accepting, and I, boiling with rage, fueled by misanthropy and incredibly intolerant; how can you welcome my company?
That you love and accept me for who and what I am, is a treasure beyond measure. I cherish your company, but why you cherish mine is something I cannot fathom. All I know is that I love you, my dear, beloved friend.
**This was written for two very dear friends: Karen and Tommy :)
***I also love palindromes ;)
*****FREE VERSE OLD AND NEW ENTRY
Copyright © Just That Archaic Poet | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
Press not to flaming lips your tepid kiss
Touch not this burning form with hands of ice
A lukewarm love can never bring to bliss
Nor will indifferent love for me suffice
Seek not with obligation to appease
Perfunctory in making love to me
Disdain is what I feel for “gifts” as these
Tis better far, my dear, to let me be
For if you not assess my heart aright
And think me one to faint with weak caress
You’ve not been seared by passion’s burning might
Nor tasted honeyed dreams that I undress
Hope not to bed me with halfhearted plea
With love obsessive, take a hold of me
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
The Fool (Octodil)
Fool that I am
I roam alone,
A ragged vagabond
Unaware of perils
That haunt the obscure paths of life;
Into the unknown I wander
Led by exuberance ...
A trump card up my sleeve.
-----------------------------------------
Author: Paul Callus ~ 31/01/2015
Contest: Tarot Cards
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Placed: 2nd
Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
You can see him now, dirty as a horse
that slipped in the mud, planting petunias
with that infamous shamrock thumb
(Irish from his Pop Appendage from his Mum)
stopping every now - and again -
to breathe deep that fragrance
rich with pheromone nostalgia
just like Grammy Georgina used too do
the apple doesn't fall far from the tree
I can still see her now, in her glory days,
with lovely lemon locks soaking up the summer sun,
rooted in that old-fashioned train of mind:
You don't stop your work until it's done!
(but a walking contradiction, just like her grandson,
... rose to her nose like ruby rebellion)
the tree doesn't grow solely from the ground
Water's an important player too,
especially from grandma's showering can
(laughing tears the shade of crystalline blue)
Course you can't forget those lifetime lessons either,
from dear ole Georgie, speaking with a sunny kind of seriousness,
about the importance of patience,
the fruitfulness of labor,
plucking up the surviving winters' courageous cucumbers,
blushing beets
the ground isn't just a place for our feet
Cause with her and I, we incinerate the stereotype:
young blood reflecting on infinity,
old knees dancing like she's got chipper chipmunks
for toes giggles in the background like a photobomb
to the expected chapel silence
(it's not all peaches and cream though,
sometimes we get violent)
Orange slush, flying miles behind us,
at times getting grazed in the face
by nature's food fight
our feet between the squish squish of the crab apple
We were two peas, if you please, in a curious pod,
like a whimsical joke from a laughing God:
Me, the champion of her scallions,
the guardian of her garden,
leaving all sensibility befuddled
with an, "I beg your pardon?"
I wonder if she knew then the gravity of the situation,
watching mama scream bloody murder,
as I came into this world ...
... was she scratching her head, lips curled, in questioning amazement,
just like Newton must have been, when developing his theory?
What d'you suppose they both were thinking?
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree ...
Written March 27, 2016
For the Cliche Contest Hosted by Silent One
Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
The wolves howling at the height of his past life
As a strangled breath from the grave
The air feels heavy and smells rotten soil
He never forgot his great love
The woman who was his passion
Links and bells chime in the wind
The taste of vintage wine
His blood rushes through a gloriously red rose
The last restraint is gone
If death is a caress, what is life ?
His bride will be transported on a white horse
- 07.08.2016
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
her sunlight shaded with clouds
burning love shuttered in pain.
rainfalls pour down on her feet
black widow spits in demon's face.
broken mirror hangs in the wall
she sees face dirty and old.
pulling down tears one by one
rinse the wound caused by his hands.
she caves underground to feel the darkness
composed herself while brokenhearted.
wait for the morning to witness the sunlight
free her mind to feel the long lost love.
powerful, she ran through the door
no regrets, left her home alone.
blue and purple paintings on skin
are gone when she dances in the rain.
Copyright © Aiyah de Torres | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
What’s In The Urn
Strangers offered me to join them in a drink
I met them on a mountain edge while skiing
They seemed like friendly normal people then
So what could happen in a simple cabin?
Finding that which is not there or vanquished
What is there that cannot be perceived?
Placed upon the mantel piece are ashes in the cabin
Brass vase, a receptacle for lost souls sits in repose
A death vase to glare at over cognac
By the sober flames cast by
A fire place glow observed in action
Liquid spirits pour out their poison
In the cozy living room inside the cabin
Drinks alone cannot remove this feeling of distraction
The urn is piercing through my soul
People belong in cemeteries you know
With all due respect for the dead
Scatter them at sea when they‘re deceased
Not paraded around in gloom to cause unease
Or as a center piece for living rooms
I’m not relieved to find it is a lizard on the shelf
To be exact, an exotic iguana family friend entombed
And to assume that fact makes this matter optimal
I beg to differ on that point and voice my opinion later
There must be a plot of ground outside
Or toilet somewhere to flush it down
But better left unsaid, as they are bereaved about the death
And I am their invited guest
Iguana tried consuming the family’s cat
Another favorite pet I guess
It is surmised, that’s how it met its end
Wound up expired inside the urn
The receptacle was there and going nowhere on its own
I swear it follows me from room to room
By embers glow and ash, shadowing my every move
A brass smile casting off the urn, leaving me concerned
I could not take my leave
The container followed me
So I waited, fixated on the thing
Is it coming back to life to eat more bugs or me?
Finding that which is not there
Is easier in the dark
Rising to the occasion of the day that breaks
I must escape the premises to continue skiing
Into the frozen world outside I fly
With no discernible signs or paths to lead or learn
I get away, no time to say good-byes or find my way
Never again will I say; what’s in the urn
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
EXERPTS FROM HITLER’S DIARY 1941
"I never travel without my diary, one should always have something sensational to read . .
. " Oscar Wilde, 1891
Tues May 9:
Just when I was busy with plans for Russia, Rudolf Hess dropped by with crazy notion of
flying to UK for peace. Said he bought some new boots yesterday for the trip -
dead shiny . I’d like a pair like that. I told him - forget the trip and tell
me where you got the boots.
Wed June 22:
Invaded Russia. Eggs for lunch - hard boiled again - I hate that. Must speak to Eva
about it.
Thurs June 23:
11:00 am - heard Chamberlain on radio again – that dreary voice! that paper-waving
droopy-moustached old gopher! My small black moustache is much neater.
12:30 pm - inspected new bunker in East Prussia with smoother concrete walls . Eva
wants to wallpaper them (nice little red flowers) and why not?
8:00pm - after dinner, practised arm-gestures for big Nuremburg speech on Saturday.
Rehearsed a few ad libs. . . . Eva liked them.
Fri June24:
Rained all day. Slow day (almost invaded Egypt) - stayed in and read. Eva dyed her
hair creamy-yellow. ( I’m gonna start calling her Blondy.) That new german
shepherd Bormann gave me - I took her out for walk. . . . she's called Blondi too
(Joke there - the guys will like it) . After dinner we all listened to Franz Lehar’s
“Merry Widow” again. I love it. Eva fell asleep; so did the dog.
Sat June 25:
Nuremburg speech went ok. Got all the ad libs in except one. Rommel was on the phone
talking about Africa and Libya, and some place called Tobruk. Must make a note – where is
Tobruk? P.S. Must find out where Libya is.
Sat Dec 6:
Just read the latest in the newspapers....almost four million Russian prisoners now.
Sun Dec 7:
Those crazy Japanese have gone and done it. . . . oh boy, they’re gonna be in trouble!
Thurs Dec 11:
Oh, what the hell. . . in for a dime in for a dollar : this Russian war is too easy, I
need a bit of a challenge. Think I’ll whiz down to the Reichstag tonight and tell ‘em
we’re declaring war on the USA. Might get a pair of those shiny boots there too.
……………………………………
Written by Sydney Peck
for Constance La France ( A Rambling Poet ) - Contest Name: The Diary
Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
Wicked news flash - torrential storm - Purple
streaks of confusion striking. Violent grey
clouds spinning its evil. Hatred scattered
in shreds of hail. Waves pounding
against our aching skulls. Who
can live dangerously and ride
their storm. To roll with the
thunder and never see blue
sky. These puddles of
tears splashing out of
fear. All that made a
clear day is spiralling
out of control. How?
can we keep calm.
Wake from this
never ending
storm. Brace
yourself this
may be a
false
wea
th
er
re
po
r
t
Copyright © Carol B. | Year Posted 2017
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
And the music began,
And with power so strong, I nearly fell back from the force
Snarling, smiling, demons held me upright,
As the Precarious Prince began,
“Dare you in silence come to me, Daughter of Eve,
To challenge my wisdom with your lust to sing,
A child of God—you provoke His flea,
A monster in the dark—a sight to see!
In meditative silence, I was ever blooming,
The passion for power in my mind consuming,
In silence, my brilliance berated all other
My beauty, shocking, my wings of color
Etched in golden array,
Silence was my everything,
A bud so tight, so light, so moist,
In heaven bright—its beam rejoiced!
And now, as knowledge, as power do burst,
I sit in silence, though in the worst
A quiet so perturbed your stomach curbs,
I long in luster for demons to disturb
Silence, once a subordinate to my wit,
Had found its way into this grimy pit,
Where now your God has given me,
A work of sloppy treachery…
Had I been He, and He been me,
I would throw His heart into the sea,
And watch the eels suck each artery
And listen to his lullabies for a century,
To feel his spirit sweat in the flames of my power,
I would shred his head on the highest tower,
Give him something to really Bab-bel,
Make him wish Eve had crushed that apple”
He smiled at me with teeth protruding,
Head craning,
Keenly waiting for my reply
My throat was insanely dry, and my heart racing
I had expected more, yet expected less…
And now all my wits were a wretched mess
Yet still Death severed those deep bass chords..
I began as a child would, with a doubtful sigh,
I wondered yet again what kind of trouble I was coming by
And inspired by The Reaper’s little push, I began
“In my days in your presence, dear one
Silence shall not roam too close,
I do not sing to disdain you,
Rather to know you,
I do not grow quiet,
To decompose you…”
I stopped for a moment,
To see him staring rather attentively,
As if he were expecting a miracle
His almost angelic expression changed as quick as it came…
“Go on…” He demanded. “Sing me what your God would have sang…”
“You speak of silence, in the fogs of doom,
In your pit you dwell, and with a child you make room,
I have ached long in the vision of your cries,
Watching the happy children, and the relieving sighs,
I imagined you just as I see you today,
A beautiful sufferer, with wit, bite, and sway
Crushing courage in your wake,
I implore you—you quake
Moments like these I will never forget,
To win, to lose, to KNOW I wait yet!
What is it with man and his thirst for the truth,
Leading him to fall, to intercede his youth,
And as I do now, wrong or right,
By God and his angels has found delight!
Allowed me with confidence to face you Prince,
A sauntering being of ire and impertinence
I see where your attention bleeds,
I see your mind and I see your needs
Such darkness must now allow some light,
By accepting my challenge—a bravery so bright
Do I mean to admire you, accept you, despise you
Am I hear to judge you, taunt you, transpire you
You and you alone I come for, oh Prince
To show you I care, to break the silence
To share with you the precious gifts of song,
To love, to sing, and in turn…belong…”
The demons chimed with laughter dark
As the Prince sat close beside me
He stood very slow, towering over me,
And took me by the arm
“Charming voice, darling,
You sing quite well,
Shall we sing for as long as you say?
Will you not be missed?”
He pointed above me, and stared at me deeply
There was warning written all over him
A threatening, distant eye,
The other full of desire
“I am missed by you, though I stand before you,
This I say, Prince
I shall stay with you 40 days and 40 nights,
And then I shall leave you, in the breaking dawn of day…”
His grip tightened upon me,
“I have you, child, woman…light…
For 40 Days and 40 nights…
Before then, let us make history of song
Yes, my dear... let us both belong…”
The demons gasped,
And Death stood still…steadily strumming a pulse of daring life
----Thank you once again, Justin Bordner, for the title to this work.
This may be confusing if you have not yet read the other parts to the poem. If you are interested, they are called Light On the Devil’s Chord – Part 1, Part 2 Part 3 as well as The ChallengeThanks for reading friends! ~Laura
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
Darlin I just cant keep a eye on you.
Everytime I stop to relax.
I find were threw.
You say leave but dont go far.
Untill you find yourself my dear.
I'll be down at the bar.
So many moods for such a little person indeed.
Forget me when your pissed.
And call me whenever your in need.
Your love is like a brick.
It really hurts when thrown.
You left me a million messages.
Dear crazy women please leave
me alone.
You dont know how to act normaly let
alone when you drink.
My darlin you dont need anything except for a
shrink.
And maybe a nice straight jacket with a muzzle
to.
After you stabbed me lastnight.
You really didnt have to call me in the hospital
and tell me were through.
They say love is sweet but this
seems more like a lemon.
The moral of this story fellas
is dont mess with crazy women.
Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
How I am torn from even thinking we could be more
What reason do I have to change what we already are?
I make an effort to stop myself from overwhelming you,
And the next moment, you are all over me,
As I, confused, welcome your playful caresses…
And when I offer my own touch,
You quickly, shyly decline,
With a silence in between telling me you want otherwise
I can see it in your eyes…
In this trembling tension, I long to melt with you,
Offering you a deeper place within me,
You inch closer to me with doubt and fear,
And I wonder when the barriers will burst
My thoughts drifting into the glistening doubt of turning tides
In our jokes and laughter,
The love that is evident within us is coated away,
Tucked within each chuckle, pushing me away…
The part of me I long for you to see…
For once, I want to hold you, yes… possessively
Knowing it is not a trivial joke that brought us together
Though here we have not even established mutual affection
As it is evident in your complexion…
I refuse to believe this is all in my head…
It is not by chance that we inch closer to one another
In that shy, shameful hesitance
My love has no shame
It only waits….
You must let go of your uncertainties
But please… do not let me go again…
Do not reject what is rightfully yours…
For it kills me….love, it kills me….
My heart sighs every moment I see the love in your eyes
I curse the laughter that we once have cherished
For now it is merely a tool to mask the shame of our love
I know my words would easily fall into your heart to reassure you,
If only you would let open that door, I would show you….
I would hold you…kiss you, and know you…
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
There's a place whence children dwell amid
fairy stories, popcorn rainbows & candied unicorns,
which is fine & dandy except when
you're supposed to be a grown-ass adult,
some people live 'round La-La landscapes
without a hint of reality's woefulness,
unable to read skywriting on the cosmos
If you believe in miracles or
that nothing ever changes
and love lasts forever and a day
or just say,
you got a damn ticket because
your unicorn was inconveniently double-parked,
rest assured thine meter is delusional
Copyright © Paloma P | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
In the deep blue realms of sadness
Floats the madness of my soul
No happy childhood dreams to cling to
No cherished memories left to hold
A crippled smile hides the weary miles
And scars carved deep within my heart
Ive searched this world for better horizons
But it seems those aspirations fall apart
Ive questioned God of my creation
And the reasons why im hear
But every time i think i see the light
The vision slowly disappears.
So ive made friends within these four walls
With the gate keepers of my soul
And i cozy up to my madness
Alone in the dark and cold.
Copyright © Carl Fraser | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Crazy Poem
|
Words with such ugly meanings
do not belong in the everyday conversation.
Contrary to popular belief
you can live another day
without disgusting proclamations.
In what way is saying, "That girl's hot as sh*t"
a compliment?
These words are not to be used frivolously
like so many condiments.
A dashing here,
and a dashing there.
What am I, Emeril Lagasse, saying BAM!
for flair?
They are not rays of sunshine
popping out of the clear blue sky.
Nor are they functioning wings
that make you soar high.
I know in truth most don't care;
F-this and f-that,
I mean really, what are you
trying to get at?
If it's just a personality trait
then I guess I'm stuck at a locked gate.
I'm not trying to pick a lock,
this is truly just how I talk.
... for sure not attempting to spread hate,
I just find it all quite unappealing.
Is it too much to ask
to measure up your words
with how you're actually feeling?
Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2014
|