Best Lightbulbs Poems
I remember when
Q was part of a Tip
now Q is a one way trip
to crazy town
It’s a place where thoughts flip
and up is down
Where every imaginable
conspiracy is found
Listen to that mind cracking sound
in a basement of a pizza shop
they think that trafficked
children are bound
Democrats demonized
Satan worshipers
Drinking babies blood
Some welcome the insanity
in like a flood
Internet researches
named Beth, Karen,
Mike, Bubba, Bob and Bud
all of them happily
wallowing in the mud
So wether they believe
in the Deep State
or PizzaGate
QAnon somehow thinks
an Old World Order
controls our fate
Slick videos crash minds
as feeble sheeple
bite into the bait
January 6th
becomes their new favourite date
Somehow
they feel truly Patriotic
instead of Psychotic
Crazy takes off like gangbusters
a fuse attached to a rocket
It seems a certain President
had them in his pocket
A gun aimed at the Capitol
and Donny cocked it
They were all dim lightbulbs
and he electrified the socket
So the Q tipped
as we watched on TV
what a crazy trip
“Hang Mike Pence”
dripped from their lips
Through broken windows
the mob slipped
as the fabric of Democracy
was stained and ripped
Still with that darkness over the Country
freedom was only temporarily eclipsed
So while the world watched
and ridiculed
“We The people” found a way
Thankfully the majority had the final say
Yes America witnessed a new day
QAnon, White Power, Proud Boys
and Anti Semites were kept at bay.
Should that not in the end
be “The American Way”?
The clouds light up like lightbulbs, as the sun sets beyond the hill
Some are tinted gray, with bright shining edges of white
They are spread all over the place, above the pine trees so still
A moving transformation of the last beautiful moments of daylight
Animals speak as birds call from the woods, chipmunks scamper fast
The air is still and warm, from this nice day to celebrate
Every minute the sunlight hangs on and continues to last
The sky transitions in full circle and it is well worth the wait
Heidi Sands
Written yesterday 5/3/20
O Father Of Mercy
Wash out this grief you shower
Over me and the land,
Ring out the spirit
And Saturday our love's weeks
Like light through locked twigs,
Beyond the puddled boy
Crying in vain for solace
Sung all about him
With worried weather,
Arise in your emptiness
Head-high like the sun.
Stars are for darkness.
May each night blanket blessings
Down Heart's corridor
And the floors of joy
Shift shapelessly through lives
Like mud on apples
In a woven dreamland,
Floating as God's single thought,
Making rich your harmony
As the cross flies off
And the Bible loads squirt guns
And "grace" replaces "debt"
Replaces tongue and
Speech in swirling compassion
Viewed from your own chair
You made from pictures
And lightbulbs and fake noses
And dusty open cheer
Up! The baby smiles
Your world of grief has shattered.
Light has pierced the dark.
As the sun sets
A hot wind like this
Does not belong in downtown Lansing
But here it is
Speed-boating down the Grand River grinning and wearing Ray-Bans
My wife and I
We hold down our pouncing bouncing patio table
At the Waterfront Bar and Grill
As if we were airborne soldiers just landed
But still attached and tangled
To our thumping jumping parachutes
Strings of lightbulbs clattering like teeth above us
Hung from under the Friday night tent
96 degrees even as the day sinks to evening.
The river converts to beer and shots of whiskey.
The catfish are buzzed and jump for joy.
The four member rock band is amped up
With the addition of a mandolin
And plays the entire second side in order
From Led Zeppelin III
But replacing at the end Hats Off (To Roy Harper)
With Hey Hey What Can I Do? as one big set.
Who does that?
We notice there are well-known bartenders
Playing hooky from working anymore
At the drab and deadly chain restaurants
Back in the townships.
We should all follow their lead
And go on strike right now from the boredom of life
Everyone everywhere
Just quit and sit along the Grand River in this sparkling city
But the lead guitarist
He drinks his beers as fast as the crowd
And the bass guitarist tilts her instrument
Vertical to her shoulder
A mother soothing her baby’s back
Swaying her hips in melodic circles
While the drummer and the piano player try to catch up
On beat
So we sing along
Implanting our hands in the dough of air.
Jimmy Page is here.
Sitting alone.
Dressed in black.
Sipping from a tall glass of orange juice.
It’s too hot for flies
So lightning bugs twinkle to the sticky bottoms
Of emptied beer pitchers
Flickering on the table tops
To the night’s finale of Whole Lotta Love
Mixed at the end with Baba O’Riley.
Who does that?
All night
A friendly man at the table next to me
A union bus driver
Who bragged he’d worked enough overtime all year
To take PTO for the entire summer
Flicks his hand against my shoulder
(The same shoulder that has Melanoma growing on it)
Every time the band strikes the first chords
To another rare Zep
With the same look of
Can you believe it?
Apparently, I must have the same look.
i swear to to tell the truth, the whole enchilada, nothing but it
dont short change yourself cause youre living on a budget
turning green, hulking out, and slippin superheros cryptonite
narrowing insight cause youd rather fight than try to take flight
the right two cents is worth more than a fortune or goodluck
shine longer than days in june, youre someones sunshine, chin up
flippin it neutral to hot, making a cycle with lightbulbs, spreadin love tenfold
hate tends to fold, tho hearts eventually all turn cold, meanies suck
while nice people swallow, opposite of hollow, prophesies will follow
there is always tomorrow, a new day, beauty always on the cusp
i live life with a lust, thirst never being drowned, this idea profound
ringing in my ears louder than a guns sound
Now you can buy them in sizes
There's clear and colored ones to,
Short, skinny, long and spiral
Just to mention a few.
In lamps and yard lights
Used in every house to see,
Some only last a few months
While some come with a lifetime guarentee.
The world would become darken
Without a litebulb to shine bright,
People may not find their way
In the dark without a nightlight.
So, such a good invention
I'm sure all would agree,
Life would become a hazard
If lightbulbs wasn't a nessity.
Flight of fancy reading by candlelight light upon winds of sth enlightening moonlighting myth of mothlight lightbulbs there is all these dead moth wings giving them life again to animate them again to try to put them into some sort of life daylight dreams of Frankensteinish deadlights what delight is there backlighting dead things macabre journey from light to darkness How men look for true light in the wrong light Do not look to dead for the living when you leave this world travel light
Eyes that can't see clearly,
Ears that can't hear keenly
Shame embraced me, never leaving my presence
I hated the moments you called me a boy that's dense...
It just doesn't make sense...
Hence, I think up on other notions...
Fenced in by my own ignorance
Hoping to gulp down solution-potions as soon as possible...don't be discouraged by the delighted demeanor of commotions (don't give up by the mere overload of fitting in, even if it means indulging in short-term satisfaction)
Yeah...let that sink in...
I made a lot of these lines up through thick and thin
I'm not bragging...I'm just relieved to let it all out
At least everyone who reads this know what I'm about...(glad that readers know my character)
Delete the history of sexual immortality that has been detected in my life, oh Lord Most High...
In other words, forgive me of my downfalls that took away my virginity of vitality
Truth hurts honestly...lies are fickle frankly - that, I can't deny or make up a white lie to try to cover it with a useless try
My lightbulbs of ideas are dimming as night unfolds into a brand-new morning...yay, yet another night of insomniac, maniac pleasure beyond measure...
Sorry, I can't help...
B-b-but be stimulated
I whisper and yelp...
From the inside, I am humiliated...jaded...hated...degraded by discouragement that has been anticipated (typical cycle of negativity that people with bipolar go through in some phases)
There's a light in goodbye
There's a twinkle in your eyes
Rumor has it that you've become so shy
There are truths behind the lies
Documents of deception have stimulated my utter humiliation (being misled by conspiracy theories has made me embarrassed)
Abashed to say the least...
These words are just not beast...
Maybe I'm just assuming again as usual
I'm just in need of God's faith fuel
I pray that all suffering ceases from the ones that deserve it
Because...not everyone will absorb this poem internally...they will take it as just-another **** fit
Sorry...I wrote and said so many bad words
I don't belong in the herd of good birds
I feel misunderstood...
My nature and my outlooks in reality is not always of good
I am from the small white house
That has the small black pup as a defender
with picture on every wall
And the exploding smell of cinnamon
I am from the big family
Where education is everything
And Christmas morning are spent as a whole
I am from the tiny town
Where everyone knows everyone
Summer Nights were spent at the park
Taking little lightbulbs out the sky
With the streetlights as curfew.
I am from
The cold winter nights spent with Hot cocoa
Warming your soul and body from head to toe
And Home Alone on repeat
I am from Ice cream after a performance
And family supporting family
I am from Denise
That raised me with morals and respect
In the small white house
With the black pup as a guard
And pictures on every way
-Malaki Fleming 2016
Please comment
Written By: D. Collins 8/7/18
Absolute power is what Trump thinks he has.
Congress bowed-down and gave him a pass.
But, it is far from over. It's just about to get hot.
He'll find that absolute power isn't what he's got.
I see impeachment down the road, and charges handed down.
Removing every avenue for you to pardon your son.
You want to be like Putin, but he's way, smarter than you.
He never runs his mouth like you and your son do.
Instead of making America great, you really shocked the world.
Brought down your son, son-in-law, and favorite little girl.
So, if absolute power is what you're trying to get.
It ain't gonna happen, I guarantee you, yeah.
We hoped that one of these days, the lightbulbs would light up.
But, that's not going to happen, because we're already sold out.
Just know that, "We The People" possess that absolute power.
And, loud-mouth New Yorkers have never made us cower.
When bread goes stale and soda flat
And milk begins congealing
Or mold appears on hunks of cheese,
It’s really not appealing.
We know that chirping smoke detectors’
Batteries have died
And lightbulbs’ lives are over
When a rattle’s heard inside.
It’s obvious when objects
Are no longer at their best.
A glance, a sniff, a noise or lack
Confirms what we have guessed.
But how to tell when humans
Reach the other side of peak?
They’ve bypassed retro and can now
Be classified antique!
A moths flight path is erratic
It flits from place to place
First it’s on your ceiling
Then it’s dive bombing your face
It hits its head on lightbulbs
Even though they’re really hot
Killing off the the few brain cells
I’m not even sure they’ve got
And when you turn your light out
It’s like its wings have been turned off
It sits there looking innocent
A well behaved, calm moth
But if you dare to touch the switch
And make your room aglow
The moth just can’t quite help himself...
“The moth and his break dance show!!”
Form:
The King dreamed of a contraption, a device
that would light up his night, so nice
No wax melting, no moths smelting
Not all that long ago...
He dreamed of food and drink always cold
in a box, a contraption, a device
No spoiling, no milk boiling, so nice
Not all that long ago...
O, and how he dreamed of a box, a device
to keep him cool on the hottest summer's night
No sweating, no tossing, no turning, so nice
Not all that long ago...
You and I are now more privileged
than the wealthiest of those Kings
Our homes, so nice, graced by lightbulbs, refrigeration, a/c
Are we duly grateful -- fellow King -- for all these things
How you feel is not enough,
You as this is less than function,
Avert the feel, replace with stuff,
Or suffer states, disjunction.
Comparing scrambled eggs to buzzing locust,
To the mumbled mind within you,
Hocus pocus, lack of locus,
There's too much to think or do.
Is it magic, the spectacle, the prance of flicked rays?
Distracting as you navigate your ways,
Through this nothing filled by gaze.
The TV sounds like lightbulbs burnt,
The filament ablaze; fidelity.
Tinnitus chimes, claiming weren't;
External cause for remedy.
I can feel the TV hum, the windows wake my earlobes,
Aghast by glass, the lampposts shook,
I'd rather nether regions probed.
I sense that I can't sense a thing,
Nothing lurks beneath my brain,
Haunting me to always bring,
The me who flees from fear and pain.
Poisons for potions,
Pills provide motions,
A corpus of nervous commotions,
Despite that, these without,
I'm better about,
But me: I continue to doubt.
Brightness peeps into
yellowing net curtains;
brief wafts of a semaphore sky.
An elderly lady has planted her mind
in an apartment,
lightbulbs burn out, are never replaced;
sunshine squints through thin drapes.
Daily she shoos the world away,
discourages rumors
of unnecessary things.
Mail piles up
on her unwelcome mat.