Best Hysterically Poems
Hey dear muse, come out from behind that chair,
You can’t hide from me for your hair is too fair,
And I desperately need your input, creativity and flair,
For I am totally blank of late and need you to dare
Me to say things, I perhaps never would, yes don’t glare.
But like a naughty child you skip out of human sight,
Needing some space, but I need your shining light,
Somehow I know you won’t be gone for too long a while,
As I need your great imagery, guidance and fertile style,
Always been there for me, a great comfort, I have to smile!
I really need you my flirty muse, now more than ever,
I want you to ponder, perhaps show me how clever,
You are, I would like you to try with your every endeavour,
To help me, I’m well and truly stuck, please return however,
And help me to write and encourage me with whatever.
I paid little attention to my muse in the years gone by,
Silly me, and she has such bright ideas, and would never lie,
We get on well, refer and exchange thoughts and, on her behalf
I must confess she’s hysterically funny, she has such wit, I laugh,
I love my muse my eternal dreamer – in height a pint and a half!
So excuse me, won’t say too much in this write or use my imagination
For she still hasn’t returned, and I need her desperately for inspiration,
Wait, I hear the bath water running, is she back, without any hesitation,
I pick up my pen and try to write something which needs poetic creation,
She’s gone to sleep, no ideas till tomorrow, together we’ll discover elation!
Daylight is greeted with the horrific stench of food chunks
swimming in stomach acid, dribbling onto bed sheets.
Accompanied with the embarrassment of
brown syrup puddle stains.
Head is pounding
like a hammer - hammering nails into the skull.
Cumbersome movements drag drowsy flesh to the mirror,
as bloodshot eyes with yellow hue, glare in reflection.
Exhausted hands rub dense stubble,
as heavy eye lids struggle to stay open.
A cocktail of coffee and a cold shower
comfort this somber slumber.
Mouthwash and mints help disguise
the fragrance of yesterday's session with Bourbon.
Continuous sips of water, attempt to quench sultry thirst,
but the blandness cannot douse untamed flames.
Especially as days consist of sitting
surrounded by monotonous blank walls,
and staring at cracks on a vase -
silently watching wilted flowers crumble.
Struggling to defeat temptation from fermented demons,
summoned by cravings for that burning sensation,
the tongue cries for mercy.
Infiltrates the mind luring it to
lust for sour liquid passion
that infuses the bloodstreams.
Hands trembling, parched lips quivering -
only golden nectar can ease the pain.
No need for a glass, as bottle is devoured,
with momentary pauses of 'aaahhhhh.'
So begins the daily quest,
to suffocate every sorrow.
To feel numb upon request,
with no care for tomorrow.
Favouring fantasy over reality,
each drop kills the pain.
The bitter sweet taste is a lethal injection,
but the numbness helps to feel perfection.
In a place where nobody notices -
alcoholic symphonies lead to intoxicated sympathy.
To deal with being alone, to forget the world,
to forget the name.
Envious eyes can be a crime,
leading to jealous tendencies.
Hiding secrets can lead to becoming a victim
to a self inflicted demise.
An empty bottle leads to remorse.
Bitter sweet tears roll with shameful giggles.
Now the cracked vase looks perfect with flowers blooming.
Inebriant melodies mock the mind.
Attempting to dance, legs stumble and crash to the ground.
Laying there on the floor - laughing.
Then crying hysterically.
The heart has no desire to be sober,
only to remain intoxicated until death.
The Silent One
20 October 2017
The Haunted House
An aging Victorian graphite three story house sat on a
promontory, lonely, deserted, weathered and forlorn.
Broken windows showed signs of cruel abuse from
passersby amused by throwing rocks we surmised.
This skeletal shell of a one-time elegant beauty
became a welcome refuge for my sister and I, wet
and chilled to the bone on that stormy autumn night.
Our car had broken down about two miles away.
There were no other homes or buildings nearby.
To our amazement the door was open and after
knocking loudly with no answer, we let ourselves in.
Cobwebs clung to our faces and hair as we entered
and brushed them away squeeling disdainfully.
I had a small torch on my keychain and with it we looked
around to try to find something to dry ourselves off.
We moved in unison across the creaking floor, shivering.
It was then that I felt cold fingers grasp my shoulder.
Wide eyed I slowly turned my head but no one was there.
We both heard errie laughter as chills ran down our spines.
We ran to the door but now it was locked and we were
trapped inside as panic set in with our hearts pounding.
Then all of a sudden two creatures appeared before us
standing there with matted hair and we both screamed
so loudly we scared each other, but with my little light I
could see we were looking at ourselves in a full length
dusty antique mirror. We laughed hysterically in pure relief.
I tried my cell phone again and miraculously got a signal.
I managed to contact the auto club who estimated 2 hours.
We waited impatiently until the auto club came to rescue
us and our car. The driver sat outside and honked his horn.
We screamed to him that we were trapped inside. He came
up to the front door and to our shock the door flew open.
We hurridly left that haunted house and never looked back
as the driver quickly drove away in the pouring rain.
8-27-18
Sponsor- Dear Heart
Contest- The Haunted House
His mind is dark,
like a night sky without stars.
Doubt sits upon his shoulders,
poking at his face,
irritating his mind,
interrupting his thoughts,
outrunning his words -
laughing at him hysterically.
Demons slay his self belief,
echoing like mountainous valleys.
Playing with his insecurities.
Manic voices vibrate in a percussion of shrieking,
like jesters juggling with his sanity.
Sweaty palms and heavy feet,
leave his tongue cemented,
like a block of concrete.
Curtains ascend slowly.
Microphone has no mercy.
Silence awaits,
as audience anticipate.
His petrified eyes attempt
to ignore hundreds of faces,
focusing at him.
He fumbles and mumbles
apologises and starts again.
Closes his eyes,
to find his special, sacred place.
His hidden spirit roars, as audience gasp.
His soul rises like king Arthur's sword,
releasing the thunder, trapped inside.
Doubt plummets to the ground.
His words strike like lightening,
defeating demons into silence.
Audience applaud in elation.
For a moment he smiles,
but then doubt and demons re-emerge.
Bullying his self esteem,
murdering his short lived joy.
He sits in silence,
wondering what is the point...
Simple Musing
Silent One
25 July 2020
I'm stuck in a puddle of mud,
unable to make a quick decision...
whom should I choose from among
others who have been so noble and kind?
More than a name comes to mind:
Linda, Carrie, Deborah, Catie, Rhoda, Danielle, Charmaine and Karen...
please don't be envious if I choose Carolyn!
You all are beautiful sweethearts, and I wouldn't sell you for a song!
After my day closes in, I check my soup mail...and there they are
those wonderful names flashing on my computer's screen,
and dazzling like precious gems in a crown! Many more should be
mentioned, highly praised and underlined with a marker:
Andrea, Emy, Joyce, Constance, Iolanda, Elaine, Laura and Carol.
One thing I can attest, nobody is greater than the other,
because they all have captured me as I have caught butterflies
with features so distinct and feminine as heroines of modern times!
Carolyn, be dazzled and feel proud, if not hysterically happy;
and if my choosing is fair, why should there be any contention,
or envy among them...I am pretty sure that they have secret admirers,
who in the same manner of awe and respect, constantly worship them!
Cheer up ladies, I have mentioned you all in my praise poem,
but only one gets this special rose...I hope they will send yours today!
I love you all as I love Carolyn for her honesty and graciousness,
then why don't you congratulate her and deepen your admiration?
My praise poem is dedicated to Carolyn Devonshire
living in Florida, USA
a very loud noise
started ringing from my clock—
I fell out of bed
a bumped water glass
rolling across the hard floor—
I slipped on my head
a loud screaming sound
resonated through the house—
my face turned bright red
my husband woke up
hysterically laughing—
I was on the floor
I could not get up
without someone assisting—
ku ku krazy day
I went back to bed
wondering what day it was—
perhaps, tomorrow
Ó April 18, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: ????.....!!!!!.....Ku Ku Crazy......!!!!!.....????
Sponsor Tracie ~*~ Indigo Dreamweaver
Hello midnight hour
It is I again
I’ve come to you in restless mood
I’m not tired
Nor am I sleepy
But here I be
In sleepless mood
I fear not the darkness
But I dare not close my eyes
I hear loudly the thoughts in my head
But I don’t even understand my thoughts
They’re a jumble of everything
Now I feel like crying
But why
And there it is a single tear
In silence it rolls
Down my cheek like a liquid diamond
Wait there’s more now
Flowing like two small streams
Hastily downhill
Through misty eyes I heard laughter
Oh, it is I laughing hysterically
OMG, have I gone mad
Quickly I assured myself nonsense
I’m just homesick in this restless midnight hour
And of course it’s that time of the month
Mood swing happens
Ahhh, to be a woman
Fin chuuk
3/24/23
IN THE SOUP
My late aunt was always getting herself in the soup,
Wanted to share this with my poetry group,
Good clients of ours we invited home for a Greek meal
But my aunt made a mistake she couldn’t conceal,
Angelina’s boyfriend was nineteen years younger,
Handsome son said my aunt, what a lucky mother.
And before I had time to give her a kick under the table
She continued to speak nonsense, when are you due,
I whispered to my mom, your sister sounds unstable,
Yes Angelina said, I’ve put on a lot of weight of late,
I can see said my aunt , but when is your due date!
My mom walked out, she was fuming, so did my dad,
I was left holding the baby, excuse the pun,
This dinner party was getting out of control, not fun
So I said to my aunt your temperature from your flu
Has made you delirious, come lie down, but we
We were not yet out of the soup, came back in an hour,
Sat down and carried on, Jenny has told me
You have our invitations for the wedding in your
Bag and the last straw was this “my commiserations”
To the boyfriend instead of my congratulations!
Fortunately my dad was filling up Angelinas glass
And the boyfriend’s with wine,
They were quite pickled when they left,
Did no recall a thing that was said,so all was fine.
Needless to say my aunt was never again invited
When guests were around, otherwise
The next time, with pleasure would have crowned
Her myself and she would also be grounded!
After my aunt and uncle had left, we laughed hysterically
Because all was in fact said naively, not hypocritically!
English was not her mother tongue, recently
Came from Greece,
And wanted to make conversation and please,
Nothing was said intentionally.
Stood on the roof of the Empire State
Two American men and their new English mate
It’s true that a bourbon or two had been had
Perhaps that’s what made them all act a bit mad
The Englishman, clearly, had drunk a bit more
His friends shared a secret which made them guffaw
One asked their English friend if he had heard
That bourbon allows you to fly like a bird
The Englishman grinned. ‘I’m not falling for that,
If I tried to fly I would fall and go splat!’
So one of his mates jumped right down to the street
Bounced all the way up to land back on his feet
‘My, that’s amazing,’ the Englishman said,
‘If I had done that I would be a bit dead.’
‘Nonsense,’ the other American said,
‘If you won’t do it, I’ll do it instead.’
True to his word he jumped down to the street
Bounced all the way up to land back on his feet
The Englishmen gasped. ‘I can’t believe that
You jumped off the roof but you didn’t go splat.’
So both the Americans said he was scared
And after a while the Englishman dared
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I think I could do that.’
He jumped and smashed into the ground with a splat
They gazed at the gory result of their plan
And Spiderman said, ‘That was mean, Superman.’
***
Secretly watching from behind a tree
He thought to himself ‘They could never kill me.’
For they hadn’t known his identity.
Or that the ‘splat’ was ground beef for his tea
He hadn’t harboured malicious intent
When he had adopted an English accent
But in their ‘day wear’ he still knew what it meant
When young Peter Parker said, ‘Meet Mr Kent.’
It was nice to see that the graveyard was stuffed
He grinned to see Spidey and Superman cuffed
Soon he'd step out for his mourners to see
For now, Batman giggled hysterically
6 September 2022
For contest: superheroes or Supervillains
Sponsor: Robert James Liguory
Crazy People
The signal they need to be on the same
channel as you, is being interrupted, by voices or
wave signals connected to a different power station.
So why not listen to the message?
Instead you medicate. So now when they laugh
they cannot tell you what is funny....so
therefore, you stifle the message, and kill humor.
Instead of finding out what flight they were prepared for,
you medicate without understanding.
His drummer sent him a message,
that's the drum he dances to.
You kill the message, sedate the messenger;
And now you will never know.
Who's crazy them or you.?
Since some sit upon the right hand,
and some sit upon the left;
It’s only the Yen and Yang of God......
The crazy person wakes up laughing Hysterically;
You cannot even laugh at all...
So who's crazy, Them or you?
Both created by the same God,
or MAYBE Not!
Adorably cute
in my hand-tailored suit...
searching for my Cinderella missing her shoe;
among the prettiest faces, someone will stand out
with eyes that are somewhat blue...
and running into a handsomer guy,
it won't discourage her from finding her delight...
hiding behind others without the perfect alibi!
Come out of the loud crowd,
beautiful one...show every apparent charm:
the delicacy of your womanly gesture;
and I'll reach out in kindness,
to subdue the fears of your first encounter!
Come out of the dim shadows,
incredible one, and accept my dance...
a request from my eager lips;
think of where we'd be tomorrow indeed,
when everyone has left and we ecstatically breath!
All the glamorous girls on the dance floor,
drinking heavily and laughing hysterically,
can't be compared to you; and what I'm looking for
is not just another amazing beauty,
but that certain winkle of shyness and more ingenuity!
Be that Cinderella missing her shoe, looking straight at me;
letting me gently slip it on,
so that this tender moment can become reality...
before our memorable, romantic night is gone,
and we'll remember nothing more than fantasy!
I Know You
A friend read a book.
Something that I had written.
When?
Hard to say…
About?
Really did not matter.
The key…
“I know all about you now.”
She chimed with all serious intent.
As if she had won a prize or a contest?
I stood very still, while inside;
the poet laughed lightly, (if somewhat hysterically)
the dancer, moved with two left feet,
the writer used the backspace,
for a whole paragraph…
the painter spilled a gallon of enamel,
the color rainbow and sparkle hue.
The sword master pulled a dagger,
too small to craft into a pen…
A princess in the park,
a clown, a hero and even a villain
felt ever so slightly unmasked.
Then just as suddenly overcome,
All of the above rolled as one on the floor.
One mirror, one page, one image or three?
You only know a very small part…
of me.
My Mother-In-Law
Her last years, were on the Internet spent.
Loving chatrooms and then...Mother found a poetry site.
Heavens! How excited was she!
.
Thus, she spent her waning years writing poetry.
How she loved mankind and her fellow-poets!
She signed her comments, with "Love, Helene."
Poets had no idea in a wheelchair bound, was she!
Her poetry young and vital, like a blooming cherry tree
One day Mom was hysterically crying.
In her mailbox, a threatening email did lay.
Sent her by a far younger, enraged female poet.
Who, oh so wrongly, accused my Mother of being after 'her' man.
As if these dying woman, could cross an ocean.
What did the frenzied poet think?
An older, sick woman was Peter Pan?
I did my best to calm tearful Mother down.
Oh, I wanted to choke this female poetess clown!
Mom is in her grave now~ sorry to say.
But, now I find myself, just like her in love with poetry.
it's such pleasureable play.
The world so full of jealousy,envy, greed and hate.
And we humans, don't understand, this will not end
Until this world is gone and we stand at heaven's gate.
.
Just be kind and generous to one another.
We act as gods who foolishly think,
We can bring peace and the world together?
That will happen one day, read the Good Book!
Lighten up, respect each other and stop acting like a
foolish, egotistical, enlightened schnook.
February 11, 2020
2:15pm PST
I took my life into my hands and shook her.
Is this living? I asked.
She grinned.
We are already in the country, which was my dream
Once upon a time. But is it still?
I questioned this until the birds began to sing.
Then I knew.
This is absolute living.
A red fox sauntered by, way down the hill.
His fluffy tail making him appear jaunty and fun.
I laughed when he heard my laugh and raced away.
Squirrels came down and began chasing each other
Up and down the tree, around the tree.
One of them was dancing on the tiny red ledge of the bird feeder.
If this isn’t living, what would be? I asked the cat.
She yawned and rolled over, letting the sun tickle her tummy.
The dog ran off barking hysterically, angry because he had seen the deer.
The deer bounded off, one black tail, another white.
The flowers smiled at me from my garden.
Red roses, hot pink tulips, lavender lilacs.
My husband came out to the porch.
Is this living or what? He asked me.
He was wearing his underwear.
We were not children of privilege,
But truly didn't know it.
If our mama had a favorite,
She surely didn't show it.
Lewis was the eldest of seven
And took his position seriously.
Lloyd was playful and Charlie a joker
Who could make us laugh hysterically.
Glenn the fourth son, a peaceful lad,
Was very big and strong.
He was the baby for four years,
Before I came along.
I was the long wanted daughter
And youngest until nearly three,
When my sister Gladys was added,
The perfect playmate for me.
Seven years later Our Baby Joe,
Was born in the fall.
We welcomed him and he became
The beloved pet of all.
Our mother and daddy were loving
And never lost control.
We each had our own special place
And played a definite role.
I loved my brothers and sister
And I simply don't recall
An instance of sibling rivalry.
I think there was none at all.
My parents deserve the credit
For raising a happy brood,
Who loved and cared for each other
As brothers and sisters should.
won hm