Best Derangement Poems
When butterflies float downward like a leaf
As air of Autumn dances everywhere
Whispers of wings become a bright motif
Floating, drifting, wandering on blue air.
Scents of cinnamon whisper treats to come
As wondrous woodsmoke warms us from within
At entry doors are straw and flowering mums
Every shape and size of gourd and pumpkin
Fall promises us all its bright enchantment
A whirling, orange world of wind and leaves
Known as a season of mad derangement
Yet of all- it is the one that most appeals
If I were to choose one season to be
I'd sleep until Autumn whispered to me
Trump Derangement Syndrome
and Hoya Paranoia*
Both reside in Washington D.C.
both designed to annoy ya
_______________________________
*The Georgetown University basketball
team's nickname is 'the Hoyas.' The
team is known for its 'annoying,' but
effective, full-court pressure defense.
Other teams became paranoid about
dribbling the ball against them. Hence,
'Hoya Paranoia.'
Drogman*, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Drogman by T. Wignesan
My mother, illustrious in the kingdoms of the Orient
Is seated surrounded by water
The water forms a belt around her, a boat.
This’s the threshold of infancy
The step which leads into the past
Is filled up by the sea.
You’re accoutred as a very old princess
In dire age-old poverty
A sack tied to the small of your back
An ashen camisole.
The odour of the humus in autumn
Tames me into accepting your disappearance.
Your face is the wind that blows on me
Another wind blows past the back of my eyes.
Since you are now eternally
Impenetrable and black
Impenetrable and black.
Even with stars twinkling from time to time
The way out was impossible.
Now that you are dead some twenty years
I understand that my dreams
Speak in your voice.
My premonitions indicate to what extent I loved you
I who was ashamed
Of your derangement.
Heavy are the tears of love flowing in me
Huge and tenderly
And it’s like a change in the seasons
The change in reason
All that was atrocious and absurd to me
Makes some sense to me now.
Mother, you wished that your son
Became a drogman in the kingdoms of the Orient
In order to be able to explain your plight.
Today as a sleeper I return
To the brink of an infancy
Which is my death
Perhaps I assume this truth.
My dreams form the crest of your discourse
Their coherence is their ocean
Your shadow, lonely seagull and savage
Is my spirit
• Don’t quite know what this word means, unless its etymological origins are to be found in the Arabic « tarjuman », meaning « translator ».
(Tu, O.C. t. II, p. 531)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Stand I here upon the Precipice of Time
between madness and derangement-
In a grief so profound
ambiance of rage,
with darkening clouds abound
marring my every breath
Declaration to your joy unsound.
Yet- from this stance
I envision you, my perfect
seraphim of light-
aching for you
Ceaselessly grasping for that which
I have no chance.
Grasping – bent in half
weeping-
My corrupt nature defies
All I hold sacred and true-
You need know
My soul rages in disparity-
Immortally, hourly, minutely, secondly…
ETERNALLY-
I cry.
The Dragon’s shadow awaits me.
Shapes, wraithlike and laughing-
clawing… dragging…shadows
eerily baffling.
Veiled obscurity- most refuse to see
This sickening reality
Tis only righteous- to set you free…
Paled I am by another’s word-
his creed, I allowed this blasphemy
Unable, enable, culpable-
Guilty, frailty, unreality, liable.
Covet, yearn, anticipation- keen ambition
overshadows any austere regulation-
We two do stand upon this Precipice of time
My love stands as most depraved of crimes-
Stolen and deceived- Options extinct
Surrender is an unnatural ailment for me.
- dedicated to my Seraphim
What Trump Wants: according to John Kelly- Retired Four-star General Trump’s former Chief of staff
—Unchecked power
—Praise of Hitler
—Dictator for a day
—Complete command over our Military
—"Stupid people, our General’s aren’t even General’s”-Daddy Don
—Military against the people
—a new Constitution
Look yonder y’all
to a mighty military
which will answer to me
I’m your fearless leader
in perpetuity
No need to put much emphasis on likability
Despite my personality, I’m in command
It’s an end to all wars, just don’t mind the
chaos I caused while in charge
Some will starve, like those in Gaza
No one that matters,
No bleeding hearts
in my penthouse plaza, I luxuriate here
Jauntily goosestepping
My soldiers march alongside me in lockstep
They do as I say
Pay no heed to the constitution
I did it my way
What you want is fearlessness
Ignore my derangement, put it aside!
Policy is more important, deport everyone
There’s no place to hide
Policy not feelings, policy not emotions!
Not a sentient human being.
by I Am Anaya
My Dear Leader
I have no emotion, I have no feeling
Sentimentality and compassion are weak
So stifle such mush when you speak!
Vermon sneak in, a toxic flood
Poisoning our pure untainted blood!
We shall seek and destroy the enemy within
In lockstep we'll wipe out their sin!
by RG
'Tis quite evident,
no pulchritude remains
apart pellucid poetry 'pon
figments' elegantly refined
persuasions which are
quite simply volition
mid-flight delusions
seizing daily routines'
fragmented derangement,
traipsing 'tween vague
blathers' vacuous
mindlessness 'midst heady
illusionist's mused intentions
of an inaudible presence
taken compulsion o'er silence
above & further the farside
poetically conceptualized
amenable druthers and
superfluous divergency
of an obscure obsession
A piece of me, forged from molten memories..
of patchwork stability
Changes of scenery....haggard, humble backdrops
Questionable casts of characters...
Scripts written in off-color obscenity and derangement
An old soul removed from a separate caste resided
within the constructs of this dramatization
Beyond the tangible crystallization...was an awareness
...an inexplicable aptitude removed from this environment
Manifesting without much notice, slipping back through the cracks.
Potential never surfacing as we braced for the Life we're dealt
That corner conscienceness ever aware of this conundrum
Small child never understanding a bitter undercurrent
...had no grasp on the inner cursing of a bad hand.
Every dampening disappointment...
left residual resentment for squandered possibility
Every predetermined scenario
left residual resentment for a roadmap doomed to failure
These children born to constrictive conditions...
Blessed with Intangibles that transcend
Enabling them to conquer a meager existence
Set back only by the world they're brought into
Abusive and spiteful...determined to Anchor
Wanting of nothing but casting invisible ceilings
leaving a legacy of limitation...
Stubbornly they obsess on trapping their offspring
Never let them cast ceilings.....confining you to a dim room
Somewhere between here,
blase and tomorrow's
derangement, lost the plot in
a moment of coherent clarity,
'twas quite a peculiar notion
unsettling predicament of
knowing one's own psyche,
silently questioned the
absolute mindfulness,
hardly sure whether to
heed or trust abstruse
insomuch as the validity
mid concise advice of
internal voiced concepts
shanghaiing neurons,
haranguing harbingers
hung on haphazardly
'til giving up on
any possibility of
sensibilities' solution,
acquired a migraine trying
to comprehend saneness,
there's a mental jolting,
dash of disappointment
mid virtual realizations
and literal translations
of who and what we are
[realistically] as opposed
to 'who we think we are'
fallen into rabbit hole madness,
"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore"...
Coming back from a college class, feeling tired
I crawl on top on my bed for a midday nap and slip into a blissful sleep. Aroused from slumber, my bed shaking violently and turning , I expect to see a human, recognizable and known to me. Familiar and welcome.
There is no one.
Checking to see I am awake
Checking to see if I am alone.
Checking my mental state to find derangement.
Nothing .
Dismissed,
I start to slip into the slumber and it shakes again. I am hyper alert
Wide awake. I ask myself Is it really shaking
Yes.
My eyes open and I go to rebuke what this is and it enters without warning-
In through the top of my head following a path leading to where my soul resides, it screams at me in foreign tongue.
Computerized, synthesized, screeching and vile.
The voice drips with evil, hate and threatens to touch the core of my human essence.
I am in danger of replacement.
I am being hijacked for this body
My soul runs from this entity and screams for our maker to witness this violation, to raise His sword at this reptile, to help me fight the unseen.
It is forced back out through the top of my head and I lay there sweating, panting, contorted. Violated.Impure.
Tainted and broken, I feel terrorized.
At my next sleep, I am awakened to find I cannot move my body- only my eyes and I hear that voice laughing at me. Mocking me. Reminding me he is there, stalking me and waiting for me to drop my guard.
The worst part of it all friends....
This story is true.
6 seconds. Changed me for eternity.
Take heed. This really happens to people.
They call this a " walk-in". Soul interchange.
Where a human soul is replaced with a demon.
So yes, they walk amongst us.
When you wonder how people can do some of what they do-
Now you know- because they aren't people.
05/06/2021 sponsor- Funom Makana
It’s sad just how low, American leftists will go,
Mentally ill by the thought: TRUMP WINS—two in a row.
Pelosi—their Jesus, decrees moral high ground,
Enter Schumer, Nadler, and Schiff—three idiot clowns.
And yet, not one strategy has rid them of him,
Charlatans and liars—appropriate pseudonyms.
Hating on this president, three long years now and counting…
Trump Derangement Syndrome—a social disorder,
Hampers millions still clinging to their losing New Yorker.
Impeaching popular presidents, with opinions—not facts,
Should scare you to the polls—to vote Donald right back!
December 20, 2019
Your Best New Poem Poetry Contest
I feel I'm on a razor's edge
twixt madness and sanity,
disturbed derangement,
orderly rationality,
alternating my being,
a multiple personality stance
not willingly on my part.
Why must we have war on a lovely planet>
The horrible fear is
that I prefer the dark moments
when cruelty surfaces
in my alter ego,
when an invariant being
is hell-bent on destruction.
Then my razor blade flashes
in the dim lights of dark allies,
blood sprouts from some jugular veins,
forming a red oozy river
that covers the smell
of the godforsaken place.’
War is so dreadful.
Then do I become sane
and cry in pain
for the victims’ deaths.
Placed 1
What is time?
But a rotation of the planets,
A love gone to the wind,
Or a setting of the sun?
Sometimes we can’t tell the day,
But by the bottle we drink.
Or the books I read,
…Plato, Steinbeck, and old Walts leaves.
What is art?
But a set of statements,
An aesthetic feeling,
Or a theory on communication?
And other times I sit in the wind,
Nostalgic story’s swim in the chaos of thoughts.
A world of energy measured by mass,
To the speed of light,
…Have you ever seen God?
Or a rope strung to the choking of seeds?
Submission,
Submission,
A world I don’t want to keep.
Do you know what it is to hurt?
Love burnt to a gravitational hole,
Failure that sticks like a parasite
…to the bone.
Loss of light,
Loss of touch,
Loss of comprehension,
It hurts so much.
Here we dwell where time has no meaning,
A court of the gods,
With a promised feast
Consumed by gluttonous dogs.
Out in the hills we roam,
Lost like infantile, mad children.
To a hunt of tragedy,
Is the mistake of Cephalus.
Can you feel the cold chill,
The rains of pain?
The wind is our home,
And a soft mad echo
Speaks to us,
…what is it saying?
What does it mean,
To be?
Standing one with nature,
Crouched by a river,
Can we interpret the drones
Of a suburban family?
They speak of regulation,
And hold a working class hero
As the sweets of moderation.
Doesn’t the road of excess
Lead us to the palace of wisdom,
And can’t we say truth
Is but of a relative nature?
But behold,
I believe in a long
Derangement of the senses
To
Obtain
The
Unknown.
Though, What is life?
Art, poetry, a figment of the imagination.
The skeptic concludes
To a weak will.
The artist spins a love
Of
Degradation.
The contemplative
Reaches the of height of formation.
The meaning,
What is reason for the meaning?
A will, a thought, a spinning of a thread,
Or,
The fabrics of dread.
Two paths, one entity,
A system from a creed of deities.
Can you speak when I say,
“Reckless abandonment,
Deranged lonely nights,
Failed plains inside the mind.
So useless to try,
The common misperceptions of what’s right,
And the twinkle of tears gone by,
…Welcome to life.”
In between the smooth black stones
and the long verdant grasses
I play
as I dance ever so lightly amongst
the wooded green
and
as I glaze upwards to the endless sky
trees wave at me
with a kind of spectral awareness
that puts my soul at peace
knowing my aloneness has nothing to do
with loneliness
All around I see large creatures leaving
slimy trails in their wake
eating their way through the wiry jungle
and over there
quickly they move together
as they lift their food source to take back home
to their queen in her quest for constant reproduction
I find the world outside of myself a dizzying derangement
filled with moments happening at the speed of light
flashes
that threaten overwhelm me with
the feeling that life
is sucking me dry
Some call me the elfin one
my wings a gossimer fabric to display the riot of colour
I use to camolflage me when I quake
and am quietly unsure....
Some also call me the elusive one
and the tales are renoun
as they weave themselves between the heather and the ivy
I call myself a Pixie
as my laughter can be heard from hill to dale
and as the lovely night falls so deep
you can see the
blinking
of the phosphorous dust that surrounds my flight.
Derangement - bullets crackle
soldier of insanity
cuts beauteous innocence
gone is the embodiment - of
her illumination of hearts
replication not to be
keeping now
intense essence
forever to blossom
When I close my eyes to sleep,
I pray to dream happy thoughts.
Every night reads alike for me,
endless battles I have fought.
Disturbing as one could imagine.
Partial derangement is all I share.
If I allocate more than a glimpse,
it would now be your nightmares
Dreaming of death and torment;
evil tortuous rituals to say a few.
I feel painful stings of every gash,
closing my eyes to what they do.
Hideously they show their faces,
in plain view, not out of sight.
Tempting my powers of elation;
mentally slaying me every night.
Some dwell within the shadows;
more deadlier than the evident.
Wickedly laughing towards me;
reeking of sinful, raunchy scents.
When I close my eyes to sleep,
I pray a spirit of peace over me.
Fighting to win a battle of flesh,
and one day be nightmare free.