Best Hypnotist Poems
Change aint easy,
lover and a hater times two.
The quiet one, looking for psychedelic sound.
Who am I? The Borrower, weeping unanswered questions.
When you can’t get high enough, call the listener.
Do you hear what I hear?
Beyond your abyss, a billion coloured raindrops.
Hands of light, pushing beyond your borders.
Measure for measure what a fool am I.
I reach towards her hand, consumed with each touch.
She passes me a rose, red is the colour of passion.
Sleeping beauty, dreaming with eyes open.
Blessed hypnotist, tentative dancer, dark lover,
tell me a sweet lie, beyond the walls of innocence.
Water spirit, float into love’s arms.
A sense of emptiness, I whispered your name.
Blessed red door, lust, shame.
Middle age white guy capturing freedom.
Pain felt soul tears, the editing of me.
Sweet scoundrel lies, rainbow coloured camouflage.
Beyond the open door, the world unknown to me.
Tell me what you don’t see.
Getting what I really wanted,
escaping gravity, filling up on empty.
For Charlie’s “Collaboration of your Titles Poetry contest.
Link https://www.poetrysoup.com/poetry/contests/collaboration_of_your_titles_13074
All titles no filler words.
I listened as you spoke
Gums flapping in the breeze
Words slipping off the tongue
Expressed with so much ease
Your verbal gymnastics
Deserve a perfect ten
I ask you one question
You repeat it all again
Your words enchant me
I listen while you sell
Some kind of hypnosis
I respond to your spell
I bow to your persuasion
Your rythm my blues
I want what you're selling
This thing I won't use
As I open my checkbook
The spell starts to break
My brain starts working
When my hand starts to shake
who's the best champion here?? me!!
come and step up if you dare if you're coming for me
I suggest you come hard/ harder then you ever did/
show me what you've prepared/ be cheeky and candid/
i'mma sit back and just stare/ watch words flow from your lips/
when you're done fall back/ get ready to receive my gift/
you gon' see colors and places that you wish you never went/
when I'm done your brain's gon' go limp/ you'll be swearing and advertising me as a hypnotist/ i'mma straight body you/push you to the left and right side/ yeah, I'm coming through/ hit you with that body slam/ make you wanna tap out before the end/ have the bell ring, referee raising my hand like yeah
you're the champion/ everybody screaming yeah that's the champion/
yeah I'm a champion
As night falls swiftly; no respite for a heart can be found
She dares not invoke sleep, so she paces the floor in silence
For to fall asleep would mean, a revisit of that dreadful dream
Ominous clouds cover the moon, carried on by rushing winds
As she searches for her husband, with hope that he is alive
That the dream is no foreboding; that he lies injured and not dead
Raven, dressed in black satin; searches diligently among the dead
The pain and anxiety lingers, as she awaits news that he is found
Fear it seems, has sensed determination; leaving hope alive
Dark clouds roll as ravens circle high above, in the prevailing silence.
Though the massive search is over, yet his voice calls in the winds
If only he’d walk through the door; and put to bed this recurring dream
Where each night, she’s awakened, by parts of an unfinished dream
She refuses to dwell on morbid thoughts, for her beloved is not dead!
As she feels his spirit still lives and has not drifted upon summer winds!
There is just one option left, which is, Ross would have to be found
In his library, his favorite cigars lie untouched in the stoic silence
Every flower in their garden droops, as if in prayer that he'd be alive
Intuition prods her to dream again; find clues that he may be alive
A Hypnotist in his expertise would escort her through the dream
Come the appointed day, throughout their house hung total silence
Her eyes were heavy as lead, yet while she dreamt, clear sight was found
And deep, somewhere between the distinct worlds, living and dead
Through thick mists she trods unafraid, as though riding on soft winds
~*~
Cont'd on Pg. II
A. Brigham
FOR: A Rambling Poet's "Among The Dead" Contest
I've picked the scabs until they bleed,
And then wonder why they never heal
Is it just a compulsive need
For pain to be what I mostly feel?
A Masochist- Antagonist!
Perfect Punch-drunk Pragmatist!
The Hypnotist who slits his wrists-
And I shall suffer in the midst
The Agony cuts one half of me
(I'll bear the brunt of all of this...)
Isn't it ironic
How the ones that yell the loudest
Are usually the ones that have the least to say?
And isn't it moronic how the ones that we should listen to
Are buried by the avalanche of useless noice we surround ourselves with each day?
And I wonder if anyone really still has anything of value left to say.
Or have we passed the point of no return,
And our pride won't let us admit that it's too late?
"I think humanity is such a beautiful thing
With the exception of the humans"
I trusted someone once.....
And the faces changed
The voices came and went,
But the song remains the same
Adorned within the rhetoric of what we want to hear.
Goose stepping perfect tempo
With the tickling of the ears.
Parroting the hypnotist
That controls us by our fears?
"I think religion is such a beautiful thing.
With the exception of the religious"
1933? Or 2016?
Find someone to blame.
Build up a head of steam.
Either Fox or CNN.
Suit up and pick your team.
But no thinking for yourself.
While they renovate your brain.
"I think voting is such a beautiful thing
With the exception of the ones we vote for"
Can our house divided
Ever stand again?
Or are our souls numbed by party platforms?
Will the puppet masters win?
Is my desire to be found right,
Stronger than my love for fellow man?
Our children heard a president
Say fire the sons of b--ch
Black hates white/white hates black
Our nation falling in the ditch
The world that we are leaving them
No longer making sense
"I thought the American dream was such a beautiful thing
With the exception of the nightmare it's turned into"
Social media is such a powerful tool.
Or is it I that am the tool?
Perhaps a prideful fool.
Anybody here, seen our old friend John?
Can you tell me where he's gone?
I suppose the more things change,
The more things stay the same.
Fascinated people watch a cobra
swaying before them to the sound
of the snake charmer’s instruments.
He is deemed a hypnotist and a brave magician
to be able to mesmerize so dangerous a creature.
Using his special pipe -the pungi -
he guides the snake in a magical dance.
Money is collected from an audience
who feels they have witnessed enchantment.
The snake charmer has done his job,
but he did not charm any snakes.
Prior to his show,
his dangerous cobra had been torn
from its natural habitat.
Its fangs were ripped mercilessly
from the creature’s mouth -
a mouth which then was sewn almost entirely shut
so that no harm could ever befall
the “brave” magician!
As snakes have no real ability to hear,
the instruments in place present a grand illusion.
The dance is that of a terrorized reptile
swaying to avoid being struck by the pungi -
which it perceives to be a weapon.
Those not privy to these secrets have been duped.
The snake is anything but charmed.
Its awful death will be
slow and certain.
Jan. 8, 2022
For the Snake Charmer Poetry Contest of Kai Michael Neumann
Used March 26 for 'A BRIAN STRAND 1097' Poetry Contest
A hypnotist
softly speaks.
Heavy eyes lids,
Butterflies behind her eyes,
Slow heart beats,
Soft breaths,
Memories…
She was in a Riot.
It seemed to be intense.
A Revolution has started,
And everything was a mess.
In The streets of Egypt,
The Smell of tear gas
Was suffocating,
Tears were shed,
Eyes were blurred.
She found herself at last
In Tahrir square,
Full of anger,
Full of fear,
And death was everywhere.
She now remembers why
She has been afraid to leave the house
For more than a whole month.
She has been afraid to watch the news,
Or even the political shows.
She remembered how many people lost their eyes,
And how loud she heard their cries.
She suddenly screamed,
and was wide awake.
A hypnotist
A silent room
Reality…
Submitted to (Picking up the Broken Pieces) Contest
27/10/2012
Desire is the trickiest mistress
A strange unpredictable beast
Tickled by fancy and circumstance
Afflicted by famine and feast
A delicate matter to master
An unruly monster to tame
Lightening flash turning wood in to ash
Fickle wind flirting with flame
The shock of a shot in the darkness
Rending the fabric of reason
Twist of the moon in the bloodstream to
The flow of the earth and the season
A flicker of feathers, a furnace
A shaft through a crack in the gloom
A kingfisher flash, and a cymbal clash
Stunning a moth to its doom
The lustre of dew on the morning
The rushing of rain from the heights
Soft light of the haze of a lazy day
And the scream of a curse in the night
Dark tryst with the forces of fury
Sharp wound to the breast of the brave
Tears streaming forth from the altar
In penitence down to the grave
A hypnotist, haunting the astral
A soul sold for pennies to Death
Dark lies from the lips of a lover
Spake on a sorcerer’s breath
A trickster, who picks the wrong moment
A joker who laughs at his joke
The strike of a flint over kindle and lint
Drawing flame from a nuance of smoke
A trigger, a shiver, a whip crack
As swift as a swallow in flight
A shimmering dust of desire and lust
On a mirror upturned to the light
How it craves for its own consummation
And seeks its own purpose to feed
A bottomless well that can never be full
A cup all half empty of mead
‘Tis a mare that the Gods cannot master
As the wildness of wind in a tree
A force as elusive to harness
As the unbridled waves of the sea
Desire is the trickiest mistress
The riskiest creature to catch
For there in her eyes and the cleft of her thighs
May morality meet with its match
© Gail Foster 2016
if it's not the hypnosis that get's you
it's the things they do while under
a suggestion of an act the audience doesn't realise
would you go crazy for three days to save the world
and on display is why
men giving birth to pretend babies
people playing instruments that aren't even there
getting drunk on water
being murdered with fake plastic knives
The things some adults do you call adult hypnosis
is seriously enough to prove my case
fighting fire with fire
the stage is set
the actors hired
to take their power back from something
The hypnotist gives a suggestion
down on your knees to pray
the hypnotist gives another suggestion
another one on his knees with a soulbound prayer
the hypnotist hypnotised by his own act
of the excuse of surrender your power
accept this bribe
and reasons why you should go crazy
to save your world from the proof on display
the proof on display a suggestion you can't help but take seriously
there it is right in front of you
witnessing the devil bribing you for you to have an automatic success
when you don't have your own answers
when you are ready to succumb to another man's power
to change who you are
the world was given an alphabet
the letters made into words
your mind your friend and protector
i don't have all the answers for you
no one does, except for the only person you can truly trust
you
relapse into drugs
out comes the pen and paper
to figure myself out
the steps i need to take to take my power back
from a chemical shackling me in addiction's chains
doing this my way with some support
i can free myself from the psychological excuse
of being worthless weak and powerless
to make the same mistake
I know me better than anyone
and you know yourself just as well
the truth will set you free
go to town with honesty
and write yourself out of the psychological sleep of the world's hypnotist
Love’s Masquerade
Love, you old chameleon,
hiding on the edges of truth
deceiving the searching eyes
playing hide and seek with hearts.
Hidden in the doubts of self esteem’s flowers
obscured by the shades of loneliness
covered in the dust of fear’s remembrance
naked amidst the fashionably alone.
Love, you lazy purring cat,
motionless observer of your world
slowly blinking hypnotist
gently guiding stumbling fools.
Curled upon the lap of cautious time
mellowing in patient acquiescence
mewing in the background of a dream
soft catalyst of love struck conflagration.
1/18/2017
submitted to – Free Verse About Love – Poetry contest
Reincarnation Of Donna Larie
I keep having these strange nightmares
Of a woman being burned alive in a car,
I dont know who this woman is
But I feel connected to her from a far,
I feel so emotionally and physically connected
To this nightmare,
I can feel my flesh burning as if I was actually there,
As the nightmares got worse
I was acting out what I was seeing,
Its like I was this burning human being,
I needed to know what was wrong with me
I needed to know why I was having these horrible dreams,
I allowed myself to be put under hypnosis
And was told by the hypnotist I'm living a second life,
The woman that was burned to death in a car accident was me in a past life,
The minute I died
I was reborn,
My spirit didn't go to the spirit world
I reincarnated in human form,
In this life everyone knows me to be Shawna Marie
But the truth of the matter is I'm not really her,
I am a reincarnation of Donna larie!
Microsleeps vs Powernaps
The boredom of freeway driving is like a hypnotist's sleep talk
The constant drone of the car's engine
The flash of lane markers to and fro, to and fro
You're bored and tired, you're mind wanders, lusting for a daydream
To escape the monotony of endless driving, with senses anesthetized.
The hypnotist whispers in your ears in muted tones
"Your eyes are getting droopy."
"Your eyelids are getting heavy, very heavy"
"You are getting very sleepy, time to let go"
"You cannot keep your eyes open any longer
"Sleep now"
You nod off, daydreaming
Eyelids droop down, eye blinds drop and shut.
Suddenly a noise,
A new sound, a toot, a truck, a flash of lights
You sense the car is drifting off the road,
Just before the lights fade and the daydream curtains open
Your sense of change saves you - just in the nick of time.
You wake up, startled,
To see your car drifting out of your lane, crash and disaster beckons.
You swerve and get back on the road,
Back in your lane, out of the clutches of daydream's trance.
You notice a road sign flashing by:
"Feeling Tired? Microsleeps and Nodding Off kills!"
"Take a Break"
"Or a 15 minute Powernap in the Rest Area just Ahead"
Microsleep daydreams are terminal,
Nodding off, switches lives off
Powernap daydreams refreshes and saves lives.
Take a break, take your daydream naps off the road.
Eye to eye, pupil to pupil searing stare too confronting,
so you look down or to the side,
watching with peripheral vision.
You glance for signs of weakness
when the eyes looking at you, stray and look away.
Then it is safe to refocus,
to beam your gaze back to try eye to eye,
Taking control as you have the eye on eye authority.
Testing for connection when eye focus switched back, pupol to puil.
When averted eyes switch back
straight in the eye, try for mutual gaze again.
Who will cop out first, you or I?
Will we engage and flirt?
Will we connect and share our trust,
transmitting and receiving
just with the eyes,
so powerful and revealing?
Perceiving eye to eye intently, implies agreement
The eyes have it.
When I spy your eye looking at me
and the gaze lasts longer than a glance,
The communication starts
when eyes have engaged, and hooked us up,
Eye to eye, aye aye it is.
Your eyes are the most potent social signalers you possess.
Lovers spend hours and hours, staring deeply into each other’s eyes
It is a display of trust and yearning,
and shared reinforcement of connection.
What flows between is a mystery, but it is real.
It is to see, and to be seen, seeing deep within.
“Look into my eyes” says the hypnotist as a way of taking control.
Magicians also rely on engaging eye to eye contact
so you cannot see the sleight of hand.
Controlling eyes, engaging eyes,
meeting eyes is mindful perception
of how eyes are so important for our being,
and how we communicate socially.
Sleepy lit nights that I miss so much,
Conscious alterations of superficial happiness invaded,
Artificially flavored dreams tasting so sweetly in slumber,
Separated by guiltless waves never crashing on my mind,
Gazing at flickering shiny lights that talked to me,
Suggestive thought powers that held my past in suspension,
Far off trusted voice speaking soothing probing words,
Senses tumbling in that warm unthinking cavern,
Where my memories were allowed to live again.
Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved
"A poem to me is the essence of any thought,
Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky.
It can fly like no other bird to places never seen,
Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place."
© 2014 Robert William Gruhn