Best Head Poems
Hello there, do please come inside- no need to wipe your feet
excuse the mess, I fear you'll find it isn't very neat.
This place is always untidy, victim of my disorder
from old hang-ups to memories, I'll admit I am a hoarder.
In here hanging like mobiles, noisy, at odds with my feelings
are life's little distractions, niggling, swinging from the ceiling.
Careful with your torch, don't shine it underneath the bed
beneath it there is lurking a dark sprouting creeping dread.
Most people couldn't live with it, a disturbing thing to some,
as it cowers in the corner from the things still yet to come.
Tread lightly in the corridor, just mind out where you walk
you'll trip on my anxiety that bobs up like a cork.
The fire is stoked, the hearth is swept and logs stacked in a heap
my warmth to all well tended (well, except when I'm asleep).
Cardboard tubes in disarray, and more you cannot see-
plans I drew up in the past, none ever meant to be.
Mannequin in veil of black, arms raised as if to dance
with all my past relationships that never stood a chance.
This rocking chair, my temper, that sometimes I must sit in
and you'll notice that the varnish of my patience has worn thin.
My sense of humour's in the loft, protected by my hats
seemed like the right place for it, since my friends all think I'm bats.
That one small window by the beam lets my faith's light shine in
I'm sorry it's not brighter, window dirty from past sin.
Still, I can climb and open it to aim my telescope
for somewhere in the darkness lies the faintest glimpse of hope
that keeps me living here in peace and shelters me from sad;
you wonder why I live in here? Well, out there-
its just mad!
September16th 2015
For contest 'Inside my head'- sponsor John Lawless
a cluster of dreams
waiting for a puff of wind -
the freedom to roam
_____________________
A Traditional Haiku Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin
S l e e p feels like a pathological lie ~
deranged dialect
spoken from the tongue of traitors,
and I listen to the heinous haze
of the insomniac breeze
moving to the splitting silver
of Judas’s coins,
a reflection of an estranged estuary
with no island left to revisit...
For I’ve seen it ~
all alone,
tasted the tormented
tones of tornadoes,
their truth tender,
warmer than the vicious voice in my head,
gaslighting my mind,
betraying my faith
clouding my soul’s compass
to believe in the
phantom fallacies painted
and pigmented
from my own poisoned perspectives,
the forest serpents of fears
sojourning in the skin,
hiding the terror
left in the arteries of abandonment.
But what would the
cynical mirror of existence reveal
when everything I have learned
was written from the crippled ink
of a burdened storm,
carrying chaos amidst calmness,
unable to grasp grey,
as hope feels like the
devil in a dress,
drenched in deception.
And I hurt
like an infant left unloved,
oblivious to the eagle anthems,
threatened by aerial oaths,
as I am the architect of darkness,
not a victim,
but the turmoil to the
Sun and the Moon,
living in the macabre
valleys thriving in shame,
as my inner child still dreams
in cursed colors of crestfallen angels.
The toxic tune in my head,
the venom within my veins,
the cataclysmic carnelian
beneath my feet ~
O beloved bloom unblemished,
remove yourself
from this collapsing castle
of cruelty numbed,
where dahlias grow from doom
and skeletons wear my name.
I am trauma
a walking juxtaposition
suffocating your silence,
aching for assurance,
ricocheting like rust
of infernal flames ~
so wipe the traces hanging
on the smoke-kissed
screens of stillness,
burn the addictive
madness of my name...
Let these ashes be,
as nocturnal stars
watch me turn into
a sonnet, unrhymed
and
u n f
i n
i s
h e d …
Heart beats in rhythm to snowflakes
Cascading in tune to my reality
Like a train travelling through time with no track
Overwelmed by it's vivid fertile surroundings
Colours pencilled in my mind
As a reminder of life and it's many shades
Guided by the brightly lit angels from above
Resolve in my faith remains steadfast
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
There’s a poet who thinks we are not
such great writers, yet she’s not that hot!
What that smarty pants spoke
was like saying to coke,
“You’re illegal” when SHE’S like pure pot!
For the the Dumb and Dumber Personal quotes Poetry Contest
I always liked the expression "The pot calling the kettle black"
but because of its racial overtones, a guy did a blog in which
a person identified as Celyn came up with this alternative more politically
correct quote: "Like the pot calling the coke illegal." It really struck
me as clever, and to me it went really well with this situation that I
describe in my limerick, which, sadly, I have seen more than just a
time or two, here at Soup.
I'm near cuckoo
This Monday blue
A day not eas'ly recommended
for making sense
I'm way too tense
And hung-over to comprehend it
My mind's on the bend
my imaginary friends
are threatening to abandon en masse
I was perfectly sane
till they pissed in my brain
negotiations are at an impasse
It pains me to mention
the bone of contention
menacing our peaceful existence
my voices of own creation
went above their station
with mutinous and unfair persistence
Old Mother Hubbard
had sneaked to the cupboard
to steal skeleton bones for her yapper
the skeletons in-wait
welcomed their bait
with little resistance managed to trap her
As to why she'd no clue
their demands were few
and until met they'd keep her as hostage
twixt two skeletons squeezed
the hag was well-pleased
only in dreams she was ever in bondage
The skeletons vacated
on their long-awaited
crusade for their rights to be equal
a sudden scurry in my head
when the voices I have bred
became hushed, which was rather unusual
The spokes-skeleton
passed a colorless wind
voiced their single demand: to remain
"We were made to vanish
to a dark cupboard banished
we demand henceforth to share your domain."
A resounding "No!
You'll stay down below
we're totaling 20, including the yapper
there's hardly space
the din to embrace
and an hour-long queue to the crapper."
"Then the beldam Hubbard
will remain in the cupboard
lore would have it, bare to the bone
the cupboard, that is
not the hag, whose Maltese
diced up raw will be fed to the crone.
We implore you most
kindly engage our host
in negotiations and if necessary plead
we want into his brain
and share your domain
or prepare for a skeleton stampede."
PART 2 TO FOLLOW. THIS MIGHT TAKE A WHILE, AS I'M LOCKED IN HOSTILE NEGOTIATIONS
I lay my head upon the softness of its mane
My white charger, no knight for a swain
as I am the gallant rider looking for love.
Riding the green valleys with mountains above,
looking for hope in natures fertile plain
A dream, a carousel of tears and pain
With bobbing horses making a colourful train
Flying above a sure sign of hope, a dove
I lay my head
Imagination in play as I search in vain
Why from happiness must I abstain
My empty heart crying out to those above
Praying each night, please bring me love
Grabbing a handful of the silky white mane
I lay my head
Don’t memorize things, Einstein said,
if it’s easy to look up instead!
I’ve got taped to my cell
what I still don’t know well:
My own number! Why clutter my head?
This is a true story. From the quote below, I’d say Einstein’s “got my number!”
“Never memorize something that you can look up.”
at times the emptiness weighs
heavy in my pool of wistful solitude
sometimes it’s more than i can bear
at times I listen to the silence
and how its nothingness echoes in my head
sometimes it’s more than i think i can bear
at times i crave the longing of togetherness
the gentleness of lips upon my own
sometimes it’s all much more than i can bear
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
Submitted on May 4, 2022 for contest A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 9TH
I like someone
who speaks all my languages
not just their own
I love someone
who when I get
my head sewn to the carpet
doesn't say
"Good luck with that "
emptying of the mind into the ether
contained reverberations
sent suddenly skywards
firmly rejected by gravity
bounce back for the haunting
we live on with the fallout
truth ruins the illusion of necessity
spittle ruins the illusion of beauty
you can't rewrite ripples caused by history
only bury the dead on loop
then repeat the mantra of moving on
there is beauty still
in the bright light before nothing
that lingers on the retina
becoming layers
light that needs slivers of insanity
to fill the gaps
but gaps to separate the insanity
nothing is new
as evidenced by what is etched in stone
coffee cup stains
create self made crowns
in those faraway hideouts
the uncut planners
never lose a drop
or burn their tongue
their hum murmurs on
in the perfect world they build
everyone else gives their all
to fulfil whatever dream
they need to be sold
in the inner workings of every dome
rest the chorus of lives that built it
silently watching on
mouths agape
bridges shatter between downcast eyes
everything wriggles
finds its way
once again to a finish line
for a fresh wave
as inevitable as the first
in this thirst for glory
in every direction lay the fallen
leaving spaces
for the glorious mourners
to preach their refrains
eventually no fight or song will be left
only moistened air descending
kissing your cheek
light and sound fade
atop mountains
thoughts of mortality are shushed
legacy leaving its mark
to echo into a final slowed motion silence
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1R8nJSe8Jb0
Dreams are made of fairy dust and gold my mom once said
as she tucked me in real tight and kissed my sleepy head
you will see stars of bright and little angels baking bread
there upon a cloud, a Pegasus with wings of finest thread
Dreams are made for human bodies full of goodness, light
you can get there if you try and wish with all your might
you'll see blueberry moons with eyes that wink so bright
magic swords with pixie dust, that never fear the night
Fairies will rock you in their cradles by their garden nook
while you sleep five winks and create with just one look
up here you can be a butterfly lost in the winds of chinook
reveal most anything, be transparent as an open book
Dreams are made of fairy dust and gold my mom once said
as she tucked me in I fell asleep, with angels in my head.
let me be a wanderlust vixen in the vortex ~
a voltage liquified to the upbeat vibrato,
versing vehemently in venom-glazed grief,
and rehearsing your criminalism
like a serial liar ~
because I am too voiceless
to command the Monarch of mercury
to vindict the sojourners
that lure me to their blind holes,
and vandalise the chromatic criticisms
that clench me in their cyanide claws,
through the cracks
branching in the demonised billboard …
Oh scorching serpent,
slithering with velvet-tongued torment,
never leave me tethered
between the lips of loneliness ~
like a leaflet tucked on
the seaglass screen,
screaming for those stygian seashells
to lock my secrets behind
the bars of misplaced passwords,
because, this pulse of paranoia
is too pure to palpitate
in the pixels of poisoned prayers ~
and there is no anecdote
that annihilates the anxious
acronyms of abandonment,
streaming through the realms
of disposed dimensions.
There are no strings attached
that hum in hexed hoaxes
through the violin vendetta
strumming an acapella ~
through the lusty noise
of monsters longing for
the loss of my sacred insanity …
perhaps, the voice in my head
is an ode to the orchestrating shadows,
too mindless to manipulate ~
scripted in secluse
replaying the ruins,
paused in the prison
a sketch of sleep in splitting senses …
as bipolar ballads
tame their schizophrenic strokes ~
when the Maestro of moon
mediates a megalomaniac
sonnet of venting slaves,
in the muted matriarchy of mantras
that keep repenting rage,
in the impulsive incandescence
of my icy azure ink ~
refusing the warmth
of vulnerable sagas
that ache to heal me
and release the
insomniac coldness ~
blanketed with the sparks
of murky mermaid stars …
I own this label ~
the name of a lunar lunatic,
and this is a war,
between the sphinx of sabotage
and the never-ending nocturns ,
as, I remain weapon-less
like a cardinal iris,
rewriting the rules
of unshakable madness
in your maniac meanderings,
ineffable ~ invisible ~ incurable
an impostrous
i n v a d e r …
I went to the dance, all alone and shy
I sat in the corner, I have no idea why
They all seemed to be laughing and high
Dancing and having good times
As I sat in the corner, singing like a mime
I saw her over by the exit door
Tears in her eyes, sadness for sure
I saw in her heart
The loneliness that was mine
I understood at once, this was my time
To be a gentleman and do what’s right
So I took her slowly into my arms
I said so softly
Put your head on my shoulders
I held her in silence
As she drained all her tears
Then the song ended and I let her go
She smiles so sweetly and said thank-you dear Joe
Leaving me here, to dance alone
I have to confess it felt very nice
To consol a sweet gal
Even she left me with no vice
Giving it seems, is its own reward
Even for the lonely, my happiness restored
Bonus Stanza 1
Thirty years later, as I arrive home
I kiss my love on her enticing lips
Her blonde hair waves with her lovely hips
I love her still, like long ago
When I said so softly
Put your head on my shoulder
Bonus Stanza 2
A place to cry
Put your head on my shoulder
It doesn’t matter why
Only angels need to know
That you are special
This is simply so
Notes
This idea came to me reading one of Dave Woods poems, listening to Paul Anka and a poem called “A place to cry” by Kathryn Ramirez. Three completely unrelated events into one poem. The BlueRay version has more Bonus Stanza’s and is available for the low price of 99.99 per copy, Oh and also this is just a poem, there is no love for this dark poet