Best Ill Poems
Long was my time of proudly witnessing her endless charms
ability to seed smiles and respect with Southern wiles aplenty.
Then, intrusion of quick insist, in shadowed shift, gave glimpse
of her facial expression failing her known impression and lilt.
Flash lit sad scripts and ego drips, pained my daughter pity adrift.
Each year since, our shared authentic love became more ripped as
she brazenly exposed self-loathing, clothed in superior mode and
attitude maintained by pathetic tries to admire herself in other’s eyes.
Some say I am bewitched
Others believe that I am cursed
Many think I have gone mad
But what they don't know is that I am mentally ill.
I did not choose to be this way
And I did not ask for this
Neither did I wish to be like this
It just came to me just as it might come to you
It makes me see things others don't see
It makes me hear voices others don't hear
At times I become so aggressive that i just want to fight
At times I become so depressed that i just want to be alone.
People have developed fear towards me
While others make fun of it
Some lock me up because they say I am an embarrassment
Only few understand me
My wife I have lost
That even my family have distanced themselves
Because they say I am crazy
They say I have lost my mind...
But what they don't know is that i am mentally ill
And all I ask for is support
With tolerance as my need
To bear with me for I am still a human being.
It’s Not Easy~ Dedication to Ill Poets
To think of beauty...when in a
hospital bed you lie,
You raise your eyes to heaven
and ask your creator...
Lord, why, and you cry!
Your fellow patient has machines
that sing through the night.
You cant leave the room, because
your broken leg has to heal.
I lie here, wondering ....why?
A few days ago, I was totally
free to go to my kitchen for a
refreshing drink.
Now I lie here, a medical prisoner,
my face-flushed, to level ten, pink.
I pray for other poet families,
and the suffering they endure.
On the other side of pain, is a
rainbow of happiness, so pure!
Writing through pain, provides a soul
some blessed relief.
One must think of glorious tomorrows
and carry a strong, innermost belief.
Dedicated to the ill poets here and their
families and friends, who do their best,
caring for them
11-11-2021
I cradle and rock him,
He's so fragile a thing in my arms,
So perfect, so innocent,
So unlike his mother.
His mother was broken and wicked,
A being rotten from within,
But I had loved her still.
It was foolish, I know,
But is that not what love entails,
Accepting someone for who they are?
She likened herself to a grey petaled rose once,
Sere and dying.
He'd likened her to a little candle,
Hidden beneath a bushel.
She called her life a colorless canvassed painting,
With him only as red.
When she saw only lifeless skies and muted chaos,
And her sanity danced away;
To some silent unheard rock music,
He fastened to her hand and danced with her,
Till the music turned gentle,
And it's tempo slow.
I had known she wouldn't stay for me,
Believing otherwise would be naive.
I had thought she would stay for him;
Our little boy,
Thought she could lock away those parts of herself,
That part of her mind that played terrible scenes;
Of still bloody rivers,
And terrific demons,
And scattered husks of men;
All in haunting recaps,
That compelled her to recreate such destruction.
She did not think she was worthy,
To look upon a thing so perfect and innocent,
And call her own.
She was broken and wicked,
And she was rotten from within,
But she knew in her black shriveled beating-box,
That he would take care of him,
Like he had done for her,
As her healer and her friend,
Though he was not his own.
So she'll close her eyes for just a little while,
For she believed all will be well,
And she hoped to go where there was silence,
Flawless emptiness.
It would be beautiful to her if death were like that.
She'll love them both still,
In that world of total blankness,
And isn't that what love is about,
Letting someone go when you know you're not right for them?
New ambient light taking hold of that which was once darkened by time.
New thoughts eluding desires and all answers to the questions at hand.
Laminated emotions taking the places of the empty spaces inside the mind.
Feel the love from behind the reinforced glass? Didn’t think it was possible.
Now the age of reasoning comes into play, now is the time for deep thought.
The devil calls for pain, in waves that crash on this body like water on rock.
No visible damage but over time it wears it down to nothing, little by little.
Plunging into the deep end surrounding the mind and clouding the vision.
Breathing is impossible, gasping for air only brings water into the lungs.
This feels like dying. This feels like numbing. This feels better than living.
ILL REPUTE
It was a house of ill repute
And though the occupants were cute
(Or so I gather second-hand,
I haven’t visited, you understand)
The local residents agreed
That, though such places served a need,
They really didn’t think it should
Be sanctioned in their neighbourhood.
Theirs was a clean, God-fearing town
And this would drive house prices down.
That really wouldn’t do at all
And so they marched on the town hall.
But that all ended in despair
(The Mayor was a client there)
But, in the end, they won the day;
Corona virus came their way.
And to the joy of all the town,
They had to close the brothel down.
They could no longer ply their art
With everyone six feet apart.
19th February 2021
They Closed The Brothel contest
Sponsor - Kai Michael Neumann
Salome just loved gingerbread
But Herod misheard what she said
Who wants a dead head
To bounce in their bed?
So she dashed to the John instead
*Title inspired by Special Character, Ilene Bauer
The blossoms in a meadow; being chocked out by the weeds;
Reflect the concepts of society; that do tangle and deceive.
In a conquest for dominion; they can not stand alone;
And the beauty of the flowers; are seldom fully grown.
The mirror casts reflections; on a rosewood vanity;
And the drawers are filled with prizes; that adorns the sight they see.
Those oratory speeches; that they rehearse into the glass;
Are deceptions to a personal gain; and their smiles are but a mask.
When asked to quench his thirst; the woman said like hell;
You shouldn’t even be here; and this is not your well.
It’s very old and common; but bares so many names;
That man must battle other men; is a humanistic shame.
You make me better than I ever hope to be
I want to be together for the rest of eternity
You fill me with strength and so I have great pride
My feelings grow deeper for you inside
We are joined together in so many ways
I’ll love you until the end of my days
I pray to god this sensation in my heart stays
I’ll love you until the end of my days
I will treasure you now and always
I’ll love you until the end of my days
I’m yours with everything that I can give
You make life so much more enjoyable to live
I take a piece of you wherever I go
I don’t have to question what I’m feeling deep down I know
We are joined together in so many ways
I’ll love you until the end of my days
I pray to god this sensation in my heart stays
I’ll love you until the end of my days
I will treasure you now and always
I’ll love you until the end of my days
With you home is wherever we land
This is fate guiding us with its hand
Is this all a dream or is it true
It doesn’t matter if I can spend everyday with you
We are joined together in so many ways
I’ll love you until the end of my days
I pray to god this sensation in my heart stays
I’ll love you until the end of my days
I will treasure you now and always
I’ll love you until the end of my days
Ill discipline
As if it is not drunk enough
The frog joins team vodka
Holy verse, subject to human
interpretation, holds only shards
of insight into divine wisdom
leaving us ill-equipped, in our
imperfection, to truly
know the mind of God.
And in our imperfect state we
have been granted the use of
only a small percentage of our
miraculous minds because we
are wisely given only that
which we can reasonably handle.
So how is it we lack humility,
claiming infallible knowledge
of sovereign will and law?
And why is faith confused
with fact when there is no
evidence to support it?
Still, self-righteous zealots
peddle pre-packaged religion
complete with divine amnesty
if you 'act now'
and warning labels
for those who refuse to buy.
We are all unqualified
to say who is right
and who is wrong.
And not one of us
is fit to know who
lacks divine approval.
To disagree is not a sin.
But to condemn another
is to usurp the throne of God.
LUST IS AS ILL-CONSIDERED A WEED
AS EVER STOLE SCENT
Rejected in the main as superstition -
A gadfly, I’m alone upon the weed:
A hot cinquefoil brooding on position,
Declared intent of being in need of screed -
Now the subject of each idle bee
Gorged already, needing a restful stop
What if his gyrations bring to me
No true syncopation of a honeyed hop?
Beauty – not recognised as such – I wonder
Why man and woman excavate a flower garden
Tear my fertility, so they may squander
Wild possibility, and the earth around me harden.
Can the joy I have before I’m torn asunder
Be worth it when they never ask my pardon?
(C) Rosemarie Rowley
She Soon Became Ill
She soon became ill
From doing things illegal;
Again never will.
Why be illegal
Looking like a bright beagle;
Frantic flying eagle.
For words we were lost;
How much will her torch have to cost;
Keep warm from the frost.
Do take an aspirin
When from headache have suffered;
Be sure is buffered.
Trump had an idea
Which was bright but he forgot
To turn on the light.
Oh, go ahead and laugh for a
while so homeostasis will take
care of all the cases when you
start letting them shine in.
Jim Horn
I am learning a lot from reading
"Undeniable" written by Bill Nye
the great science guy. If he should
add great to his name, his name
would really sound great. Is that
a theory, idiom or cause and effect?
Which one wanted you can select.
Will you always wonder why the
lightening and thunder struck Trump
with a striking glance if you haven't
glanced lately causing hair to turn
orange. So orange you going to write
another poem about it?
.
Sitting alone in the magazined room
Reading health trends at our local GP.
There was a group of eight, down and out,
Thinking there’s places we’d all rather be.
I hear my name, “Yes, this should be quick”,
I go and sit on the examination table.
This doc should be able to fix everything up,
A few pills to make me feel stable.
He then gets a call, leaves with a smile.
“Bugger” I hear myself think.
So I sit there and observe the eye charts,
Reading glasses, computers and little white sink.
And this gets me thinking, I wonder what ills
People come here to this surgery to fix?
Who needs the penlight, hammer, and scale?
Who needs the tongue depressing lips?
Are these for acne, sore arms, sore legs,
Colds, sneezing fits, small limps or runny noses?
How many are hypochondriacs just wanting a talk,
Saying they’re allergic to little red roses?
But then I see the defibrillator, catheters,
Blood pressure gauge, gloves and needles.
It’s clear some folks are really crook, with arthritis,
Strokes, cancers or measles.
So I get off my overblown, inflated high horse,
And appreciate what this doc goes through.
And then he returned, diagnosed my affliction.
Smiling he said “Rest, drink water and use a tissue”.
Decisions formed from words devoid of vision,
Blind letters without even dots to the eyes!
What will make the difference?
To the virtue less rhyme of our soulless times,
In this virtual pantomime!
There is so much “out there not to find”
In this almost (middle-ages) portrait of a work unsigned.
No trace on bodies that lie beneath a war-clouded sky
Yet on and on their wind-driven voices cry.
Freedom, Equality, "Truth" beneath a foreign sky!
Almost as foreign as the voiced values; that valued them..?
As unquestioning sacrifices.) yet that is the way...
Once the die of war is cast, that is the way it lies
And lies.
© Joe Maverick 27-12-2010